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HEEOINES, 




HISTORY. 



S I Iflstr at jL 



3 D ITE ID BY 



MARY E. HEWITT 



"A perfect woman nobly plann'd, 
To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
And yet of spirit still and bright, 
With something of an angel light."— Wordsv/orth. 



NEW YORK: 
CORNISH, LAMPORT & CO., PUBLIS 
No. 8, Park Place. 

1852. 




s^ 






Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 185-2, by 
CORNISH, LAMPORT & Co, 
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern 
• District of New York. 



Stereotyped by Vincent Dill, Jr., 
No. 29 Beelrncian Street, N, Y. 



3& B. ]| i A u S f 



In the following pages, I have endeavored to present to 
the reader, as far as the limits of a single volume would 
permit, from a variety of sources, sketches of the lives of 
women, rendered illustrious by their heroism and their 
virtues. 

To carry out this intention, then, to the letter, I ought, 
perhaps, to have omitted the sketch of Semiramis, who is 
described by one of her historians, as ^' a monster, pos- 
sessed of every vice;" but she lived so far back in the 
ages of the world, that this account of her appears, to us, 
to be merely suppositious, and I have chosen to introduce 
her here, as an example of the indomitable courage and 
bravery, of purpose and action, sometimes displayed by 
woman, when placed in a situation to call them forth. 
That Semiramis lived in an idolatrous age, and was, like 
those of the time in which she flourished, a believer in the 
pagan doctrine of fatalism, will account for her seemingly 
puerile abandonment of her ambitious career, and cowardly 
submission to what she believed to be the incontrovertible 

decree of Destiny. 

M. E. H. 



GOIf iff §. 



^ Semiramis, "- - - -9 

NiCTORIS, - - - - - - - -- 19 

y Zenobia, --.--25 

boadicea, ----37 

Berengeria, ------.--45 

Laura, .--------77 

Joan of Arc, ----89 

y Isabella of Castile, ------- 101 

Beatrice Cenci, ""-------- 155 

Ann Boleyn, ._------ 177 

Lady Jane Gray, -------- 203 

Leonora d ' Este, ------- 215 

Catherine Alexiewna, 227 

/Maria Theresa, 263 

Charlotte Corday, ------- 317 

Josephine, . . - 331 



§ e i^ I M ifii) ^ ^ • 



Semiramis, Queen of Assyria, is the first female sovereign 
upon record who ever held undivided empire. All the accounts 
which have come down to us concerning this celebrated queen, 
are mixed up with so much exaggeration, absurdity, and mytho- 
logical fiction, that she may be considered partly a fabulous and 
partly an historical personage. As beheld through the long 
lapse of ages, and in the dim distance of primeval time, with 
all her gorgeous and Babylonish associations around her, Semi- 
ramis appears to our fancy rather as a colossal emblem of female 
sovereignty, overshadowing the East, than as a real and distinct 
individual ; yet, that such a woman did once exist is more than 
probable, and her name has been repeated from age to age, till 
it has become so illustrious, and her exploits and character so 
frequently alluded to in history, in poetry, and in the arts, that 
it is obviously necessary to be acquainted with the traditions re- 
specting her ; though quite unnecessary to give implicit credit 
to the relation of events resting on such vague, remote, and 
doubtful testimony, that, if it be difficult to believe, it is im- 
possible to confute them. The time at which Semiramis lived 
is a matter of dispute ; and the authorities vary so extravagantly 



10 SEMIRAMIS. 



that we are tempted to exclaim, with Bryant, " What credit can 
possibly be given to the history of a person, the period of whose 
existence cannot be ascertained within 1500 years ?" Yet, so 
universal a celebrity must surely have had some foundation in 
truth. 

According to Eollin, Semiramis flourished about 1950 years 
before the Christian era, that is, about 400 years after the Flood, 
and nearly about the time of Abraham. Other chronologists, 
with far more probability, place her reign about 600 years later ; 
thus making her nearly contemporary with Gideon, Judge of 
Israel, and Theseus, King of Athens. 

She was born at Ascalon, in Syria, and was the wife of Me- 
nones, one of the generals of Ninus, King of Assyria. At the 
siege of Bactria, whither she accompanied her husband, she dis- 
tinguished herself by her prudence and courage, and through 
her sagacity the city was at length taken, after a protracted 
siege. She discovered a weak part in the fortifications, and led 
some soldiers up a by-path by night, by which means the walls 
were scaled, and the city entered. Ninus, struck with her wis- 
dom and her charms, entreated her husband to resign Semiramis 
to him, offering his daughter, the Princess Sosana, in exchange, 
and threatening to put out the eyes of the husband if he refused. 
Menones, seeing the king resolved on his purpose, and the lady 
in all probability nothing loath, and unable to determine between 
the alternatives presented to him — the loss of his eyes, or the 
loss of his wife — hung himself in a fit of jealousy and despair, 
and Ninus immediately afterward married his widow. Semiramis 
became the mother of a son named Ninias, and the king, dying 
soon afterward, bequeathed to her the government of his empire 
during the minority of his son. We have another version of 
this part of the story of Semiramis, which has afforded a fine 



SEMIRAMIS. 11 



subject for poets and satirists. It is recorded that Ninus, in the 
extravagance of his dotage, granted to his young and beautiful 
queen the absolute sovereignty of his empire for a single day. 
He seated her on his regal throne, placed his signet on her finger, 
commanded the officers of sta,te and courtiers to do her homage, 
himself setting the first example, and her decrees during that 
brief space of time were to be considered absolute and irrevo- 
cable. Semiramis, with equal subtlety and audacity, instantly 
took advantage of her delegated power, and ordered her husband 
to be first imprisoned, and then strangled — a punishment which 
his folly would almost have deserved from any other hand. She 
declared herself his successor, and contrived to retain the su- 
preme power during the remainder of her life. She was twenty 
years of age when she assumed the reins of empire, and resolved 
to immortalize her name by magnificent monuments and mighty 
enterprizes. She is said to have founded the city of Babylon, 
or at least to have adorned it with such prodigious and splendid 
works that they ranked among the wonders of the world. When 
we read the accounts of the " Great Babylon," of its walls and 
brazen gates, its temples, bridges, and hanging gardens, we should 
be inclined to treat the whole as a magnificent fiction of poetry, 
if the stupendous monuments of human art and labor still re- 
maining in India and Upper Egypt, did not render credible the 
most extravagant of these descriptions, and prove on what a gi- 
gantic scale the ancients worked for immortality. We are also 
told that among the edifices erected by her was a mausoleum to 
the memory of the king, her husband, adjoining the great Tower 
of Babel, and adorned with statues of massive gold. AYhcn 
Semiramis had completed the adornment of her capital by the 
most wonderful works of art, she undertook a progress through 
lier vast einpire, and everywhere Icfl behind her glorious me- 



12 SEMIRAMIS. 



morials of lier power and her benevolence. It seems to have 
been an article of faith among all the writers of antiquity, that 
Assyria had never been so great and so prosperous as under the 
dominion of this extraordinary woman. She built enormous 
aqueducts, connected the various cities by roads and causeways, 
in the construction of which she leveled hills and filled up val- 
leys ; and she was careful, like the imperial conqueror of modern 
times, to inscribe her name and the praises of her own munifi- 
cence on all these monuments of her greatness. In one of these 
inscriptions she gives her own genealogy, in a long list of celes- 
tial progenitors ; which shows that, like some other monarchs 
of the antique time, she had the weakness to disown her ple- 
beian origin, and wished to lay claim to a divine and fictitious 
parentage : — 

*' My father was Jupiter Belus ; 

My grandfather, Babylonian Saturn ; 

My great-grandfather, Ethiopian Saturn ; 

My great-grandfather's father, Egyptian Saturn ; 

And my great-grandfather's grandfather. 

Phoenix Coelus Ogyges." 

After reading this high-sounding catalogue of grandfathers and 
great-grandfathers, it is amusing to recollect that Semiramis has 
left posterity in some doubt whether she herself ever had a real 
existence, and may not be, after all, as imaginary a personage 
as any of her shadowy, heaven-sprung ancestors 

There is another of the inscriptions of Semiramis, which is in 
a much finer spirit : — 

' ' Nature bestowed on me the form of a woman ; my actions have sur- 
passed those of the most valiant of men. I ruled the empire of Ninus, 
which stretched eastward as far as the river Hyhanam, southward to 



SEMIRAMIS. 13 



the land of incense and of myrrh, and northward to the country of the 
Scythians and the Sogdians. Before me no Assyrian had seen the great 
sea. I beheld with my own eyes four seas, and their shores acknow- 
ledged my power. I constrained the mighty rivers to flow according to 
my will, and I led their waters to fertilize lands that had been before 
barren and without inhabitants. I raised impregnable towers ; I con- 
structed paved roads in ways hitherto untrodden but by the beasts of 
the forest ; and in the midst of these mighty works I found time for 
pleasure and for friendship." 

We are told that Semiramis was extremely active and vigilant 
in the administration of her affairs. One morning, as she was 
dressing, information was brought to her that a rebellion had 
broken out in the city ; she immediately rushed forth, half- 
attired, her hair floating in disorder, appeased the tumultuous 
populace by her presence and her eloquence, and then returned 
to finish her toilette. 

Not satisfied with being the foundress of mighty cities, and 
sovereign over the greatest empire of the earth, Semiramis was 
ambitious of military renown. She subdued the Medes, the 
Persians, the Libyans, and the Ethiopians, and afterward de- 
termined to invade India. She is the first monarch on record 
who penetrated beyond the Indus, for the expedition of Bacchus 
is evidently fabulous. The amount of her army appears to us 
absolutely incredible. She is said to have assembled three mil- 
lions of foot-soldiers and five hundred thousand cavalry ; and as 
the strength of the Indians consisted principally in the number 
of their elephants, she caused many thousand camels to be dis- 
guised and caparisoned like elephants of war, in hopes of de- 
ceiving and terrifying the enemy by this stratagem. Another 
historian informs us that she constructed machines in the shape 
of elephants, and that these machines were moved by some 



14 S E M I R A M I S . 



mechanical contrivance, which was worked by a single man in 
the interior of each. The Indian king or chief, whose name 
was Stabrobates, hearing of the stupendous armament which 
was moving against him, sent an ambassador to Semiramis, de- 
manding who and what she was ? and why, without any provo- 
cation, she was come to invade his dominions ? To these very 
reasonable inquiries the Assyrian queen haughtily replied, " Go 
to your king, and tell him I will myself inform him who I am, 
and why I am come hither." Then, rushing onward at the 
head of her swarming battalions, she passed the river Indus in 
spite of all opposition, and advanced far into the country, the 
people flying before her unresisting, and apparently vanquished. 
But having thus insidiously led her on till she was surrounded 
by hostile lands, and beyond the reach of assistance from her 
own dominions, the Indian monarch suddenly attacked her, 
overwhelmed her mock elephants by the power and weight of 
his real ones, and completely routed her troops, who fled in all 
directions. The queen herself was wounded, and only saved by 
the swiftness of her Arabian steed, which bore her across the 
Indus ; and she returned to her kingdom with scarce a third of 
her vast army. We are not informed whether the disasters of 
this war cured Semiramis of her passion for military glory ; and 
all the researches of antiquarians have not enabled us to dis- 
tinguish the vague and poetical from the true, or at least the 
probable events in the remainder of her story. We have no 
account of the state of manners and morals during her reign, 
and of the progress of civilization we can only judge by the great 
works imputed to her. Among the various accounts of her death 
the following is the most probable : — An oracle had foretold 
that Semiramis should reign until her son Ninias conspired 
against her ; and after her return from her Indian expedition 



lEMIRAMIS. 15 



she discovered that Ninias had been plotting her destruction. 
She immediately called to mind the words of the oracle, and, 
without attempting to resist his designs, abdicated the throne at 
once, and retired from the world ; or, according to others, she 
was put to death by her son, after a reign of forty-two years. 
The Assyrians paid her divine honors under the form of a 
pigeon. 



^ 1 c t It 1 3. 



NicTORis succeeded Semiramis after an interval of five genera- 
tions. Having observed the increasing power and restless spirit 
of the Medes, and that Ninevah, with other cities, had fallen a 
prey to their ambition, she proceeded to put her dominions in 
the strongest posture of defence. She sunk a number of canals 
above Babylon, which by their disposition rendered the Euphra- 
tes, which before flowed to the sea in an almost even line, so com- 
plicated by its windings, that in its passage to Babylon, it arrives 
three times at Ardericca, an Assyrian village ; and to this hour, 
says Herodotus, they who wish to proceed from the sea up the 
Euphrates to Babylon, are compelled to touch at Ardericca three 
times on three different days. She raised banks also to restrain 
the river on each side, that were wonderful for their enormous 
height and substance. At a considerable distance above Baby- 
lon, turning aside a little from the stream, she ordered an im- 
mense lake to be dug, sinking it till they came to the water ; its 
ch'cumference was no less than four hundred and twenty fur- 
longs. The earth of this was applied to the embankments of 
the river ; and the sides of the lake were strengthened or lined 
with stones, brought thither for that purpose. Nictoris had in 
view by these works, first of all to break the violence of the cur- 
rent by the number of circumflexions, and also to render the 
navigation to Babylon as difficult as possible, with the farther 
view of keeping the Medes in ignorance of her affairs, by giving 



20 N I C T ORIS. 



them no commerciarencouragement. Having rendered botli of 
these works strong and secure, she next undertook to connect 
both sides of the city, through which the river flowed, dividing 
it into two parts, by the means of a bridge ; and the immense 
lake which she had before sunk became the farther means of 
extending her fame. It was a matter of general inconvenience 
to the citizens, in the days of former kings, that whoever desired 
to pass from one side of the city to the other, were obliged to 
cross the water in a boat ; but Nictoris changed the course of the 
river by directing it into the canal prepared for its reception. 
When this was full the natural bed of the river became dry, and 
she then caused the embankments on each side, near those 
smaller gates which led to the water, to be lined with bricks 
hardened hy jire. She afterwards erected a bridge, nearly in the 
centre of the city, of large stones, strongly compacted with iron 
and lead, and over this the inhabitants passed in the day time 
by a square platform, which was removed in the evening to pre- 
vent acts of mutual depredation. When the canal was tho- 
roughly filled with water, and the bridge completely finished and 
adorned, the Euphrates was suffered to return to its original bed, 
while the canal and the bridge were confessedly of the greatest 
utility to the public. 

Nictoris also caused her tomb to be erected over one of the 
principal gates of the city, — in this instance deviating from the 
customs of her country — the Assyrians, in their funeral rites, 
imitating in all respects the Egyptians, — and placed upon it the 
following inscription : — 

" If any of the sovereigns, my successors, shall be in extreme 
want of money, let him open my tomb and take as much as he 
may think proper. If his necessity be not great, let him forbear ; 
the experiment will perhaps be dangerous," 



NICTORIS. 21 



The tomb remained without injury till the time and reign of 
Darius. He was equally offended at the gate being rendered 
useless, from the general aversion to pass through the place over 
which a dead body was laid, and that the invitation thus held 
out to become affluent, should have been so long neglected. 
Darius opened the tomb ; but instead of riches he only found a 
corpse, with a label of this import — " If your avarice had not 
been equally base and insatiable, you would not have intruded 
on the repose of the dead." 

Nictoris was succeeded by her son Labynatus, in whose reign 
Babylon was taken by Cyrus, during a day of festivity, while 
the citizens were engaged in dancing and merriment. 



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J'rmis^lyWKdsJiA.'' . 



ii- 



QUEEN OE PALMYRA 

Of the government and manners of the Arabians before the 
time of Mahomet, we have few and imperfect accounts ; but 
from the remotest ages, they led the same unsettled and preda- 
tory life which they do at this day, dispersed in hordes, and 
dwelling under tents. It was not to those wild and wandering 
tribes that the superb Palmyra owed its rise and grandeur, 
though situated in the midst of their deserts, where it is now 
beheld in its melancholy beauty and ruined splendor, like an 
enchanted island in the midst of an ocean of sands. The mer- 
chants who trafficked between India and Europe, by the only 
route then known, first colonized this singular spot, which af- 
forded them a convenient resting-place ; and even in the days 
of Solomon it was the emporium for the gems and gold, the 
ivory, gums, spices, and silks of the far Eastern countries, which 
thus found their way to the remotest parts of Europe. The 
Palmyrenes were, therefore, a mixed race — their origin, and 
many of their customs, were Egyptian ; their love of luxury and 
their manners were derived from Persia ; their language, litera- 
ture, and architecture, were Greek. 

Thus, like Venice and Genoa, in more modern times, Pal- 
myra owed its splendor to the opulence and public spirit of its 
merchants ; but its chief fame and historical interest it owes to 
the genius and heroism of a woman ! 

Septimia Zenobia, for such is her classical appellation, was 



26 ZENOBIA 



the daughter of an Arab chief, Amrou, the son of Dharb, the 
son of Hassan. Of her first husband we have no account ; she 
was left a widow at a very early age, and married, secondly, 
Odenathus, chief of several tribes of the Desert, near Palmyra, 
and a prince of extraordinary valor, and boundless ambition. 
Odenathus was the ally of the Romans in their wars against 
Sapor, (or, more properly. Shah Poor), king of Persia. He 
gained several splendid victories over that powerful monarch, 
and twice pursued his armies even to the gates of Ctesiphon, (or 
Ispahan), his capital. Odenathus was as fond of the chase as 
of war ; and in all his military hunting expeditions he was ac- 
companied by his wife Zenobia, a circumstance which the Eoman 
historians record with astonishment and admiration, as contrary 
to their manners, but which was the general custom of the Arab 
women of that time. Zenobia not only excelled her country- 
women in the qualities for which they were all remarkable — in 
courage, prudence, and fortitude, in patience of fatigue, and 
activity of mind and body — she also possessed a more enlarged 
understanding ; her views were more enlightened, her habits 
more intellectual. The successes of Odenathus were partly 
attributed to her, and they were always considered as reigning 
jointly. She was also eminently beautiful — with the oriental 
eyes and complexion, teeth like pearls, and a voice of uncom- 
mon power and sweetness. 

Odenathus obtained from the Romans the title of Augustus, 
and Greneral of the East ; he revenged the fate of Valerian, who 
had been taken captive and put to death by Shah Poor. The 
eastern king, with a luxurious barbarity truly oriental, is said to 
have used the unfortunate emperor as his footstool to mount his 
horse. But in the midst of his victories and conquests Odena- 
thus became the victim of a domestic conspiracy, at the head of 



Z E N B I A . 27 



which was his nephew Maeonius. He was assassinated at Emessa 
during a hunting expedition, and with him his son by his first 
marriage. Zenobia avenged the death of her husband on his 
murderers ; and as her sons were yet in their infancy, she first 
exercised the supreme power in their name ; but afterward, 
apparently with the consent of the people, assumed the diadem 
with the titles of " Augusta " and " Queen of the East." 

The Romans and their effeminate emperor Gallienus refused to 
acknowledge Zenobia 's claim to the sovereignty of her husband's 
dominions, and Heraclianus was sent with a large army to reduce 
her to obedience ; but Zenobia took the field against him, en- 
gaged and totally defeated him in a pitched battle. Not satisfied 
with this triumph over the haughty masters of the world, she 
sent her general Zabdas to attack them in Egypt, which she 
subdued and added to her territories, together with a part of 
Armenia and Asia Minor. Thus, her dominions extended from 
the Euphrates to the Mediterranean, and over all those vast and 
fertile countries formerly governed by Ptolemy and Seleucus. 
Jerusalem, Antioch, Damascus, and other cities famed in history, 
were included in her empire ; but she fixed her residence at Pal- 
myra, and in an interval of peace she turned her attention to 
the further adornment of her magnificent capital. It is related 
by historians, that many of those stupendous fabrics of which 
the mighty ruins are still existing, were either erected, or at least 
restored and embellished by this extraordinary woman. But that 
which we have most difficulty in reconciling with the manners 
of her age and country, was Zenobia's passion for study, and her 
taste for the Greek and liatin literature. She is said to have 
drawn up an epitome of history for her own use ; the Greek 
historians, poets, and philosophers, were familiar to her ; she 
invited Longinus, one of the most elegant writers of antiquity, 



28 ZENOBIA. 



to her splendid court, and appointed him her secretary and 
minister. For her he composed his famous " Treatise on the 
Sublime," a work which is not only admirable for its intrinsic 
excellence, but most valuable, as having preserved to our times • 
many beautiful fragments of ancient poets whose works are now 
lost, particularly those of Sappho. 

The classical studies of Zenobia seem to have inspired her with 
some contempt for her Arab ancestry. She was fond of deriving 
her origin from the Macedonian kings of Egypt, and of reckon- 
ing Cleopatra among her progenitors. In imitation of the famous 
Egyptian queen, she aiFected great splendor in her style of liv- 
ing, and in her attire ; and drank her wine out of cups of gold, 
richly carved and adorned with gems. It is, however, admitted 
that in female dignity and discretion, as well as in beauty, she 
far surpassed Cleopatra. She administered the government of 
her empire with such admirable prudence and policy, and in 
particular with such strict justice towards all classes of her sub- 
jects, that she was beloved by her own people, and respected 
and feared by the neighboring nations. She paid great attention 
to the education of her three sons, habited them in the Roman 
purple, and brought them up in the Roman fashion. But this 
predilection for the Greek and Roman manners appears to have 
displeased and alienated the Arab tribes ; for it is remarked that 
after this time their fleet cavalry, inured to the deserts and un- 
equaled as horsemen, no longer formed the strength of her 
army. 

While G-allienus and Claudius governed the Roman empire, 
Zenobia was allowed to pursue her conquests, rule her domin- 
ions, and enjoy her triumphs almost without opposition. But at 
length the fierce and active Aurelian was raised to the purple ; 
and he was indignant that a woman should thus brave with im- 



Z E N O B I A . 29 



punity the offended majesty of Rome. Having subdued all his 
competitors in the West, he turned his arms against the Queen 
of the East. Zenobia, undismayed by the terrors of the Eoman 
name, levied troops, placed herself at their head, and gave the 
second command to Zabdas, a brave and hitherto successful gen- 
eral. The first great battle took place near Antioch ; Zenobia 
was totally defeated after an obstinate conflict. But, not dis- 
heartened by this reverse, she retired upon Emessa, rallied her 
armies, and once more defied the Roman emperor. Being again 
defeated with great loss, and her army nearly dispersed, the 
high-spirited queen withdrew to Palmyra, collected her friends 
around her, strengthened her fortifications, and declared her 
resolution to defend her capital and her freedom to the last 
moment of her existence. 

Zenobia was conscious of the great difficulties which would 
attend the seige of a great city, well stored with provisions, and 
naturally defended by surrounding deserts ; these deserts were 
infested by clouds of Arabs, who, appearing and disappearing 
with the swiftness and suddenness of a whirlwind, continually 
harrassed her enemies. Thus defended without, and supported 
by a strong garrison within, Zenobia braved her antagonist from 
the towers of Palmyra as boldly as she had defied him in the 
field of battle. The expectation of succors from the East 
added to her courage, and determined her to persevere to the 
last. '' Those," said Aurelian in one of his letters, '' who speak 
with contempt of the war I am waging against a woman are 
ignorant both of the character and power of Zenobia. It is 
impossible to enumerate her warlike preparations of stones, of 
arrows, and of every species of missile weapons and military 
engines." 

Aurelian, in fact, became doubtful of the event of the seige, 



30 Z E N O B I A . 



and he offered the qaeen the most honorable terms of capitula- 
tion if she would surrender to his arms. But Zenobia, who was 
aware that famine raged in the Roman camp, and daily looked 
for the expected relief, rejected his proposals in a famous Greek 
epistle, written with equal arrogance and eloquence ; she defied 
the utmost of his power ; and, alluding to the fate of Cleopatra, 
expressed her resolution to die like her rather than yield to the 
Roman arms. Aurelian was incensed by this haughty letter, 
even more than by dangers and delays attending, the siege. He 
redoubled his efforts — he cut off the succors she expected — he 
found means to subsist his troops even in the midst of the de- 
sert — every day added to the number and strength of his army — 
every day increased the difficulties of Zenobia, and the despair 
of the Palmyrenes. The city would not hold out much longer, 
and the queen resolved to fly, not to insure her own safety, but 
to bring relief to the capital. Such at least is the excuse made 
for part of her conduct, which certainly requires apology. 
Mounted on a fleet dromedary she contrived to elude the 
vigilance of the besiegers, and took the road to the Euphrates ; 
but she was pursued by a party of the Roman light cavalry, 
overtaken, and brought as a captive into the presence of Aure- 
lian. He sternly demanded how she had dared to oppose the 
power of Rome ! to which she replied, with a mixture of firm- 
ness and gentleness, '' Because I disdained to acknowledge as 
my masters such men as Aureolus and Grallienus. To Aurelian 
I submit as my conqueror and my sovereign." Aurelian was 
not displeased at the artful compliment implied in this answer ; 
but he had not forgotten the insulting arrogance of her former 
reply. While this conference was going forward in the tent of 
the Roman emperor, the troops, who were enraged by her long 
and obstinate resistance, and all they had suffered during the 



Z E NO B I A . 31 



siege, assembled in tumultuous bands calling out for vengeance, 
and with loud and fierce cries demanding her instant death. The 
unhappy queen, surrounded by the ferocious and insolent sol- 
diery, forgot all her former vaunts and intrepidity. Her feminine 
terrors had perhaps been excusable if they had not rendered 
her base ; but in her first panic she threw herself on the mercy 
of the emperor, accused her ministers as the cause of her deter- 
mined resistance, and confessed that Longinus had written in 
her name that eloquent letter of defiance which had so incensed 
the emperor. 

Longinus, with the rest of her immediate friends and counsel- 
ors, were instantly sacrificed to the fury of the soldiers ; and the 
philosopher met death with all the fortitude which became a wise 
and great man, employing his last moments in endeavoring to 
console Zenobia and reconcile her to her fate. 

Palmyra surrendered to the conqueror, who seized upon the 
treasures of the city, but spared the buildings and the lives of 
the inhabita,nts. Leaving in the place a garrison of Eomans, he 
returned to Europe, carrying with him Zenobia and her family, 
who were destined to grace his triumphs. 

But scarcely had Aurelian reached the Hellespont, when 
tidings were brought to him that the inhabitants of Palmyra 
had again revolted, and had put the Roman governor and garri- 
son to the sword. Without a moment's deliberation the em- 
peror turned back, reached Palmyra by rapid marches, and took 
a terrible vengeance on that miserable and devoted city. He 
commanded the indiscriminate massacre of all the inhabitants, 
men, women, and children ; — fired its magnificent edifices, and 
leveled its walls to the ground. He afterwards repented of his 
fury, and devoted a part of the captured treasures to reinstate 
some of the glories he had destroyed ; but it was too late — he 



32 Z E N B I A . 



could not reanimate the dead, nor raise from its ruins tlie stu- 
pendous Temple of the Sun. Palmyra became desolate ; its 
very existence was forgotten, until about a century ago, when 
some English travelers discovered it by accident. Thus the 
blind fury of one man extinguished life, happiness, industry, art, 
and intelligence, through a vast extent of country, and severed 
a link which had long connected the eastern and western con- 
tinents of the old world. 

When Aurelian returned to Rome after the termination of this 
war, he celebrated his triumph with extraordinary pomp. A 
vast number of elephants, and tigers, and strange beasts from 
the conquered countries ; sixteen hundred gladiators, an innum- 
erable train of captives, and a gorgeous display of treasures — 
gold, silver, gems, plate, glittering raiment, and oriental luxuries 
and rarities, the rich plunder of Palmyra, were exhibited to the 
populace. But every eye was fixed on the beautiful and majes- 
tic figure of the Syrian queen, who walked in the procession 
before her own sumptuous chariot, attired in her diadem and 
royal robes, blazing with jewels, her eyes fixed on the ground, 
and her delicate form drooping under the weight of her golden 
fetters, which were so heavy that two slaves were obliged to 
assist in supporting them on either side ; while the Roman popu- 
lace, at that time the most brutal and degraded in the whole 
world, gaped and stared upon her misery, and shouted in exulta- 
tion over her fall. Perhaps Zenobia may in that moment have 
thought upon Cleopatra, whose example she had once proposed 
to follow ; and, according to the pagan ideas of greatness and 
fortitude, envied her destiny, and felt her own ignominy with all 
the bitterness of a vain repentance. 

The captivity of Zenobia took place in the year 273, and in 
the fifth year of her reign. There are two accounts of her sub- 



Z E N B I A . 33 



sequent fate, differing widely from each other. One author 
asserts that she starved herself to death, refusing to survive her 
own disgrace and the ruin of her country. But others inform 
us that the Emperor Aurelian bestowed on her a superb villa at 
Tivoli, where she resided in great honor, and that she was after- 
wards united to a Roman senator, with whom she lived many 
years. Her daughters married into Koman families, and it is 
said that some of her descendants remained so late as the fifth 
century. 

The three sons of Zenobia are called in the Latin histories, 
Timolaus, Herennicanus, and Vaballathus. . The youngest be- 
came king of part of Armenia ; but of the two eldest we 
have no account. 



g 0^ 3 1 c e^. 



QUEEN OE THE ICENI. 

The history of ancient Eome is written in characters of 
blood, and over her whole wide-spread empire, from the Cale- 
donian hills to the confines of India, from Torneo's rock to the 
cataracts of the Nile, the blood of slaughtered hecatombs of 
men, women, and children, has saddened the earth. Physical 
strength was her standard of right, and by that standard she 
measured her claims to every country of the globe, wherever 
her cohorts could gain and maintain a footing. 

Intellectual Greece bowed to her yoke — the islands of the 
Mediterranean paid her homage — Carthage fell before her 
power — Iran acknowledged her authority — Egypt became her 
tributary, and even the remote Island of Britain did not escape 
the power of ambitious Ceasar, when G-aul lay prostrate at his 
feet. The estuaries of Britain were filled with his war-galleys, 
and the quiet of the happy island was broken by the clangor of 
Roman arms. A peaceful people, unaccustomed to the busi- 
ness of war, and illy armed, the Britons made but feeble 
resistance to their invaders, and soon another rich territory of 
earth was added to the collossal dominions of Rome. The 
whole island became subject to Roman authority ; the country 
was divided into states, and a Roman governor was appointed 
over the whole. About the sixtieth year of our era, Seutonius 
Paulinus, one of the greatest generals of the age, was appointed 
governor of Britain, and allowed an army of about one hundred 



38 BOADICEA. 



thousand men to keep the natives in subjection. The infamous 
Nero was at that time emperor of Rome, and Paulinus was a 
fit instrument to execute the orders of his master, who cared not 
how many people suffered, if his unbounded avarice and lust 
were satisfied. To fill the coffers of the emperor, the Britons 
were subjected to the most cruel taxation ; and those who but 
recently were in the full enjoyment of peace and liberty, were 
reduced to the most abject slavery. 

But the inherent principles of freedom, actively alive in the 
breast of the Briton, could not be destroyed, and when the 
oppressions of their conqpierors became too severe to be borne, 
they raised the banner of revolt, around which every true 
Briton rallied. The spirit of revolution, prompted by a love 
of liberty, and keen resentment for wrongs inflicted, which had 
been increasing in intensity for a long time, broke out into open 
rebellion, at a time when Paulinus was absent upon the Island 
of Mona, ot Anglesey. A peculiar act of cruelty on the part 
of the Romans, was the immediate cause of this general revolt ; 
and to that act and its consequences we devote these pages. 

Prasatugus, king of Iceni,* and a prince much beloved for 
his mildness and equity, when on his death-bed, made an equal 
division of his kingdom, one-half of which he bequeathed to the 
Roman emperor, and the other to his family. The reason for 
making this bequest to the emperor, was the vain hope, that it 
would so far satisfy his rapacity, as to secure his protection for 
his wife and children. But the moment that the death of 
Prasatugus came to the ears of Paulinus, he sent an army suf- 
ficient to take forcible possession of the whole of the wealth and 
the kingdom of the deceased prince. Against this unjust act, 

* This State included that portion of England now known as the counties of 
Norfolk, Suffolk, Cambridge and Huntingdon. 



BOADICEA. 39 



his, queen Boadicea, a woman of extraordinary spirit, warmly 
remonstrated ; but her remonstrance was met with the most 
brutal treatment from the minions of the governor. They even 
went so far as to scourge her publicly ; and not content with this 
inhuman injury of her person, those brutal men ravished her 
daughters in the presence of the queen. 

This outrage aroused the Iceni to revenge, and every man 
took a solemn oath to avenge this brutal wrong inflicted upon 
their queen and family. The Trinobantes next raised the war- 
cry, and in every part of the island where the injuries of the 
queen of the Iceni became known, the indignant Britons 
crowded around the standard of revolt, eager for the blood of 
the Roman barbarians. 

Carnelodunum (London) was the only town that remained 
loyal ; but even there the Romans were not safe. Throughout 
the whole island an indiscriminate massacre of men, women, and 
children, took place ; and in one instance a legion of the 
Roman army, attempting to stay the dreadful retribution of the 
Iceni, were all slaughtered to a man. In London the revolters 
made terrible havoc. The Romans in great numbers fled to their 
principal temple for protection, but it was set on fire, and with 
its living contents entirely consumed. That outrage upon the 
queen of the Iceni, cost Rome eighty thousand of her citizens. 

As soon as Paulinus heard of this revolt, he left Mona, and 
hastened to the assistance of his people. This the Britons ex- 
pected ; and the armies of the several states were combined, and, 
by unanimous consent, Boadicea was chosen commander-in- 
chief The combined army of the Britons amounted to one 
hundred thousand men, while Paulinus could muster only about 
ten thousand. Alarmed at his comparatively weak condition, 
and the numerical strength of the revolters, the Roman general 



40 BOADICEA. 



was perplexed to know wliat course to take. First lie resolved 
to shut himself up in London, and bide the issue of a siege ; 
but when he found the triumphant enemy marching toward the 
capital, he resolved to conquer them or die. The inhabitants 
of London begged him to remain in their defence, but he 
yielded to the solicitations of his soldiers, and the dictates of his 
own judgment, and resolved to do battle with the enemy. 

The Roman army marched out into the open country and 
awaited the approach of the Britons. They chose for their 
camp a narrow strip of land, with a dense forest in the rear, 
while before them was spread out a spacious plain. 

On this plain the host of Boadicea encamped, now numbering, 
(including the women and children who had been invited by the 
soldier-queen to witness the contest and share in the spoils of 
the undoubted victory,) two hundred and thirty thousand. 
Boadicea, still stung with the wrongs she had suffered, was 
eager to engage with Paulinus. With her daughters beside her, 
in a war-chariot, she traversed the ranks of the Britons, in- 
flaming their zeal for her cause, and animating them with 
courage, by passionate addresses. 

The description of her dress and appearance, on the morning 
of the battle that ended so disastrously for the royal amazon 
and her country, quoted from a Roman historian, is remarkably 
picturesque : — 

" After she had dismounted from her chariot, in which she 
had been driving from rank to rank to encourage her troops, 
attended by her daughters a,nd her numerous army, she pro- 
ceeded to a throne of marshy turfs, appareled after the fashion 
of the Romans, in a loose gown of changeable colors, under 
which she wore a kirtle very thickly plaited, the tresses of her 
yellow hair hanging to the skirts of her dress. About her neck^ 



BOADICEA. 41 



she wore a chain of gold, and bore a light spear in her hand, 
being tall, and of a comely, cheerful, and modest countenance ; 
and so awhile she stood, pausing to survey her army, and being 
regarded with reverential silence, she addressed to them an im- 
passioned and eloquent speech on the wrongs of her country." 

"This is not the first time," cried she, " that Britons have 
been victorious under their queen. I come not here as one 
descended from royal progenitors, to fight for empire or riches, 
but as one of you — as a true Briton^ — to avenge the loss of 
liberty, the wrongs done to my own person, and the base viola- 
tion of the chastity of my daughters. Eoman lust has grown so 
strong, that nothing escapes its pollution ; old and young are 
alike liable to its outrages. The gods have already begun to 
punish them according to their deserts. One legion that durst 
hazard a battle, was cut in pieces, and others have fled like 
cowards before us. Raise loud your war-shout, and their fears 
will make them flee. Consider your numbers and your motives 
for the war, and resolve to conquer or die. It is better to fall 
honorably in defence of liberty, than to submit to Roman out- 
rage. Such, is my resolution ; but, ye men, if ye choose, live 
and be slaves !" 

When the brave queen had concluded her harangue, a loud 
shout ran along the lines of the British army, and exclamations 
of loyalty were heard on every side 

But while these demonstrations denoted confidence of victory 
on the part of the Britons, Paulinus was unawed, and by forci- 
ble appeals to his soldiers, he raised their hopes and courage to 
the highest pitch. He pointed to the multitude of Britons, as 
a handful of men and immense numbers of women and chil- 
dren ; he exerted them to believe the Britons to be cowards — 
charged them to keep close together so as to advance in an 



42 BOA DICE A. 



unbroken phalanx, and to fight sword in hand, after they had 
thrown their darts. 

Then, ordering a charge to be sounded, the Romans advanced 
in a solid column, hurled their javelins with terrible effect, with 
desperate power broke into the ranks of the Britons, and with 
sword in hand spread death and desolation in their path. Such 
an unexpected and fierce onslaught, struck terror to the island- 
ers, for they supposed the Romans would be awed by their 
numbers ; and it was in vain that Boadicea encouraged them to 
repel the attack. They fled in dismay in every direction. The 
women and children we're exposed to the fury of the Romans ; 
neither age nor sex, nor even horses were spared ; and when 
the sun set upon Britain that night, more than seventy thousand 
of her children lay dead upon that battle-field. Boadicea and 
her daughters narrowly escaped fallmg into the hands of the 
conquerors ; but, stung with remorse and despair at her ac- 
cumulated misfortunes, she took poison, and died. 

Such, in brief, is a romantic chapter of the early history of 
Britain, and in it are shadowed forth many of the bolder fea- 
tures of the human character, — the tyranny of uncontrolled 
power, ambition, avarice, cruelty, lust ; the generous heroism of 
woman, the strength of innate principles of freedom, the mean- 
ness of cowardice, and the suicidal tendency of misfortune and 
despair. And such are the leading features in almost every 
chapter of the world's history, where states and empires have 
changed masters. The record of the political progress of 
nations, is a wonderful romance, where truth and fable are com- 
bined in presenting to generation after generation, an entertain- 
ing volume for amusement and instruction ; and, doubtless, 
Byron was not wide of the mark, when he denominated all 
history, " a splendid fiction." 



gelre^cj^H^ of ^^b^irlre. 



THE QUEEN OE RICHAKD I. 

Berengaria, the beautiful daughter of Sancho the Wise, King 
of Navarre, was first seen by Richard Coeur de Lion, at a grand 
tournament given by her gallant brother, at Pampeluna, her 
native city. Eichard was then captivated by the beauty of 
Berengaria, but his engagement to the fair and frail Alice of 
France prevented him from ofi'ering her his hand. 

Berengaria may be considered a Provengal princess, by lan- 
guage and education, though she was Spanish by descent. Her 
mighty sire, Sancho the Wise, had for his immediate ancestor 
Sancho the Great, called the Emperor of all Spain. He in- 
herited the little kingdom of Navarre, and married Beatrice, 
daughter to Alphonso, King of Castille, by whom he had three 
children, Berengaria, Blanche, and Sancho, surnamed the 
Strong, a hero celebrated by the Provengal poets for his gallant 
exploits against the Moors. He defeated the Miramolin, and 
broke the chains that guarded the camp of the infidel with his 
battle-axe, which chains were afterwards transferred to the 
armorial bearings of Navarre. 

An ardent friendship had subsisted from boyhood between 
Richard and Sancho the Strong, the gallant brother of Beren- 
garia. A similarity of pursuits strengthened the intimacy of 
Richard with the royal family of Navarre. The father and 
brother of Berengaria were celebrated for their skill and judg- 
ment in Provengal poetry. Berengaria wns herself a learned 



46 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

princess ; and Richard, who was not only a troubadour poet, 
but, as acting sovereign of Aquitaine, was the prince and judge 
of all troubadours, became naturally drawn into close bonds of 
amity with a family, whose tastes and pursuits were similar to 
his own. 

No one can marvel that the love of the ardent Richard should 
be strengthened when he met the beautiful, the cultivated, and 
virtuous Berengaria, in the familiar intercourse which sprang 
from his friendship with her gallant brother ; but a long and 
secret engagement, replete with " hope deferred," was the fate 
of Richard the Lion-hearted and the fair flower of Navarre. 

Our early historians first mention the attachment of Richard 
and Berengaria about the year 1177. If we take that event 
for a datum, even allowing the princess to have been very young 
when she attracted the love of Richard, she must have been 
twenty-six at least before the death of his father placed him at 
liberty to demand her hand. Richard had another motive for 
his extreme desire for this alliance ; he considered that this be- 
loved mother, Queen Eleanora, was deeply indebted to King 
Sancho, the father of Berengaria, because he had pleaded her 
cause with Henry II., and obtained some amelioration of her 
imprisonment. 

Soon after Richard ascended the English throne he sent his 
mother. Queen Eleanora, to the court of her friend, Sancho the 
Wise, to demand the Princess Berengaria in marriage, "for," 
says Yinisauf, '' he had long loved the elegant girl." Sancho 
the Wise not only received the proposition with joy, but in- 
trusted Berengaria to the care of Queen Eleanora. The royal 
ladies traveled from the court of Navarre together, across Italy 
to Naples, where they found the ships belonging to Eleanora 
had arrived in the bay. But etiquette forbade Berengaria to 






BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 47 

approach her lover till he was free from the claims of Alice ; 
therefore she sojourned with Queen Eleanora at Brindisi, in the 
spring of 1191, waiting the message from King Richard, an- 
nouncing that he was free to receive the hand of the Princess 
of Navarre. 

It was at Messina that the question of the engagement be- 
tween the Princess Alice and King of England was debated 
with Philip Augustus, her brother ; and more than once, the 
potentates assembled, for the crusade expected that the forces 
of France and England would be called into action, to decide 
the right of King Richard to give his hand to another lady than 
the sister of the King of France. 

The rhymes of Piers of Langtoft, recapitulate these events 
with brevity and quaintness : — 

" Then spake King PMlip, 
And in grief said, 

' My sister Alice 
Is now forsaken. 

Since one of more riches 
Of Navarre hast thou taken.' 

When King Richard understood 
What King Philip had sworn. 

Before clergy he stood. 
And proved on that morn. 

That Alice to his father 
A child had borne, 

Which his sire King Henry 
Held for his own. 

A maiden child it was, > 

And now dead it is. 

* This was a great trespass. 
And against ray own witte. 

If I Alice take.' " 



48 BEKENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

King Philip then contends that Eichard held in hand his 
sister's dower, the good city of Grisors. Upon this, the 
King of England brings the matter to a conclusion in these 
words : — 



' Now, said King Richard, 

That menace may not be. 
For thou shall have ward 

Of Gisors thy citee, 
And treasure ilk a deal. 

Richard yielded him his right. 
His treasure and his town. 

Before witness at sight, 
(Of clerk and eke baron,) 

His sister he might marry, 
Wherever God might like, 

And, to make certainty, 
Richard a quittance took." 



The French contemporary chroniclers, who are exceedingly 
indignant at the repudiation of their princess, attribute it solely 
to Eleanora's influence. Bernard, the treasurer, says, " The 
old queen could not endure that Richard should espouse Alice, 
but demanded the sister of the King of Navarre for a wife for 
her son. At this the King of Navarre was right joyful, and she 
traveled with Queen Eleanora to Messina. When she arrived 
Richard was absent, but Queen Joanna was there, preparing 
lierself to embark next day. The Queen of England could not 
tarry, but said to Joanna — ' Fair daughter, take this damsel for 
me to the king your brother, and tell him I command him to 
espouse her speedily.' Joanna received her willingly, and 
Eleanora returned to France." 



BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 49 

Piers of Langtoft resumes : — 

" She be left Berengere, 
At Ei chard's cottage, 
Queen Joanne held her dear ; 
They lived as doves in cage." 

King Richard and King Tancred were absent on a pilgrimage 
to the shrine of St. Agatha at Catania, where Tancred must 
have devoutly prayed for the riddance of his guest. Richard 
here presented the Sicilian king with a famous sword, pretend- 
ing it was Caliburn, the brand of King Arthur, lately found at 
Grlastonbury, during his father's antiquarian researches for the 
tomb of that king. 

Richard then embarked in his favorite galley, named by him 
Trenc-the-mere.^ He had previously, in honor of his betroth- 
ment, instituted an order of twenty-four knights, who pledged 
themselves in a fraternity with the king to scale the walls of 
Acre ; and that they might be known in the storming of that 
city, the king appointed them to wear a blue band of leather 
on the left leg, from which they were called Knights of the 
Blue Thong. 

The season of Lent prevented the immediate marriage of 
Richard and his betrothed ; and, as etiquette did not permit 
the unwedded maiden, Berengaria, to embark in the Trenc-the- 
mere under the immediate protection of her lover, she sailed in 
company with Queen Joanna, in one of the strongest ships, 
under the care of a brave knight, called Stephen de Turnham. 

After these arrangements Richard led the van of the fleet in 
Trenc-the-mere, bearing a huge lantern at her poop, to rally 

* Literally meanin{^, cul-lhe-sea. 



60 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

the fleet in the darkness of night. Thus, with a hundred and 
fifty ships and fifty galleys, did Lion-hearted Richard and his 
bride and sister, hoist sail for Palestine, where Philip Augustus 
had already indolently commenced the siege of Acre. 

'* Syrian virgins wail and weep, 
English Ricliard ploughs the deep." 

But we must turn a deaf ear to the bewitching metre of po- 
lished verse, and quote details taken by Piers of Langtoft from 
the Provengal comrade of Eichard and Berengaria's crusade 
voyage : — 

'* Till King Eichard be forward. 

He may have no rest. 
Acres then is his tryste, 

Upon Saracen fiends. 
To venge Jesu Christ, 

Hitherward he wends. 
The king's sister Joanne, 

And Lady Berengare, 
Foremost sailed of ilk one ; 

Next them his chancellor 
Eoger Mancel. 

The chancellor so hight. 
His tide fell not well ; 

A tempest on him lights 
His ship was down borne^ 

Himself there to die ; 
The king's seal was lost, 

With other gallics tway. 
Lady Joanna she 

The Lord Jesn besought,, 
In Cyprus she might be 

To haven qnickly brought^ 



BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 51 

The maiden Berengare, 

She was sore afright. 
That neither far nor near, 

Her king rode in sight." 

Queen Joanna was alarmed for herself ; but the maiden Be- 
rengaria only thought of Richard's safety. 

Bernard, the treasurer, does not allow that Joanna was quite 
so much frightened. We translate his words : — " Queen Jo- 
' anna's galley sheltered in the harbor of Limoussa, when Isaac, 
the Lord of Cyprus, sent two boats, and demanded if the queen 
would land. She declined the offer, saying, ' All she wanted 
was to know whether the King of England had passed.' They 
replied, ' They did not know.' At that juncture Isaac ap- 
proached with a great power, upon which the cavaliers, who 
guarded the royal ladies, got the galley in order to be rowed 
out of the harbor at the first indication of hostility. Meantime 
Isaac, who saw Berengaria on board, demanded, ' What damsel 
that was with them P They declared, ' She was the sister of 
the King of Navarre, whom the King of England's mother had 
brought for him to espouse.' Isaac seemed so angry at this 
intelligence, that Stephen de Turnham gave signal to heave up 
the anchor, and the queen's galley rowed with all speed into the 
offing." 

When the gale had somewhat abated, King Richard, after 
mustering his navy, found not only that the ship was missing, 
wherein were drowned both the chancellor of England and the 
great seal, but the galley that bore the precious freight of his 
sister and his bride. He immediately sailed from a friendly 
Cretan harbor in search of his lost ships. When arrived off 
Cyprus, he entered the bay of Famagusta, and beheld the galley 



52 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

that contained his princesses, laboring heavily and tossing in the 
offing. He became infuriated with the thought that some wrong 
had been offered to them, and leaped, armed as he was, into 
the first boat that could be prepared. His anger increased on 
learning that the queen's galley had put into the bay in the 
storm, but had been driven inhospitably from shelter by the 
threats of the Greek despot.^ 

At the time of Richard's landing, Isaac and all his islanders 
were busily employed in plundering the wreck of the chancellor's 
ship and two English transports^ then stranded on the Cypriot 
shore. As this self-styled emperor, though in behavior worse 
than a pagan, professed to be a Christian, Richard, at his first 
landing, sent him a civil message, suggesting the propriety of 
leaving ofi* plundering his wrecks. To this Isaac returned an 
impertinent answer, saying, " that whatever goods the sea threw 
on his island he shojild take, without asking any one." 

" They shall be bought full dear, by Jesu, heaven's king !" 

With this saying, Richard, battle-axe in hand, led his cru- 
saders so boldly to the rescue, that the mock emperor and his 
Cypriots scampered into Limoussa, the capital of the island, 
much faster than they had left it. 

Freed from the presence of the inhospitable despot. King 
Richard made signals for Joanna's galley to enter the harbor. 
Berengaria, half dead with fatigue and terror, was welcomed on 
shore by the conquering king, ''when," says the chronicler, 
'' there was joy and love enow." 

As soon as Isaac Comnenus was safe behind the walls of his 
citadel, he sent a message to request a conference with King 
Richard, who expected he had a little lowered the despot's 

* Despot was a title given to the petty Greek potentates. 



BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 53 

pride ; but when they met, Isaac was so full of vaporing and 
boasting, that he elicited from King Richard an aside in Eng- 
lish ; and as Coeur de Lion then uttered the only words in our 
language he ever was known to speak, it is well they have been 
recorded by chronicle : — 

" Ha ! de debil !" exclaimed King Richard, " he speak like a 
fole Breton."* 

As Isaac and Richard could not come to any terms of pacifi- 
cation, the despot retreated to a strong-hold in a neighboring 
mountain ; while Richard, after making a speech to the Lon- 
doners, (we hope in more choice English than the above), insti- 
gating them to the storm of the Cypriot capital with promise of 
plunder, led them on to the attack, axe in hand. The London- 
ers easily captured Limoussa. 

Directly the coast was clear of Isaac and his myrmidons ; 
magnificent preparations were made at Limoussa for the nuptials 
and coronation of^ King Richard and Berengaria. We are able 
to describe the appearance made by these royal personages at 
this high solemnity. King Richard's costume, we may suppose, 
varied little from that in which he gave audience to the despot 
Isaac, a day after the marriage took place. 

" A satin tunic of rose-color was belted round his waist — his 
mantle was of striped silver tissue, brocaded with silver hahP- 
moons — his sword of fine Damascus steel, had a hilt of gold, and 
a silver-scaled sheath — on his head he wore a scarlet bonnet, 
brocaded in gold, with figures of animals. He bore a truncheon 
in his hand. His Spanish steed was led before him, saddled, 

♦ This speech implied no offence to the English, but was meant as a reproach to 
the Bretons, who are to this day proverbial in France for their willfulness. Besides, 
Richard was bitter against the Bretons, who deprived him of the society of hia 
then acknowledged heir, Arthur, their duke. — [Vinisavf.) 



54 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

and bitted with gold, and the saddle was inlaid with precious 
stones. Two little golden lions were fixed on it, in the place 
of a crupper. They were figured with their paws raised in act 
to strike each other." In this attire, Vinisauf adds, Richard, 
who had yellow curls, a bright complexion, and a figure like 
Mars himself, appeared a perfect model of military and manly 
grace. 

The effigy of Queen Berengaria at Espan certainly presents 
her as a bride — a circumstance which is ascertained by the flow- 
ing tresses — royal matrons always wearing their hair covered, or 
else closely braided. 

Her hair is parted, a la vierge^ on the brow ; a transparent 
veil, open on each side, like the Spanish mantillas, hangs behind, 
and covers the rich tresses at their length. The veil is confined 
by a regal diadem of peculiar splendor, studded with several 
bands of gems, and surmounted by j^ewr^-^e-Zi^, to which so much 
foliage is added as to give it the appearance of a double crown, 
perhaps because she was crowned queen of Cyprus as well as 
England. Our antiquarians affirm, that the peculiar character 
of Berengaria 's elegant but singular style of beauty brings con- 
viction to every one who looks on her effigy that it is a care- 
fully finished portrait. 

At his marriage King Richard proclaimed a grand feast. 

*' To Limoussa the lady was led, 
His feast the king did cry, 
Berengere will be wed, 
And sojourn thereby 
The third day of the feast ; 
Bishop Bernard of Bayone 
Newed oft the geste 
To the queen he gave the crown." 



BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 55 

" And there, in the joyous month of May, 1191," says an 
ancient writer, '' in the flourishing and spacious isle of Cyprus, 
celebrated as the very abode of the goddess of love, did King 
Richard solemnly take to wife his beloved lady Berengaria. By 
the consent of the Cypriots, wearied of Isaac's tyranny, and by 
the advice of the allied crusaders, who came to assist at his 
nuptials, Richard was crowned King of Cyprus, and his bride 
Queen of England and Cyprus. 

Soon after, the fair heiress of Cyprus, daughter to the despot 
Isaac, came and threw herself at the feet of Richard. " Lord 
King," she said, " have mercy on me ;" when the king courte- 
ously put forth his hand to lift her from the ground, and sent 
her to his wife and his sister Joanna. As many historical scan- 
dals are afloat respecting the Cypriot princess, implying that 
Richard, captivated by the distressed beauty, from that moment 
forsook his queen, it is well to observe the words of an eye-wit- 
ness, who declares that Richard sent the lady directly to his 
queen, from whom she never parted till after their return to 
Europe. 

The surrender of the Cypriot princess was followed by the 
capture of her father, whom the King of England bound in sil- 
ver chains richly guilt, and presented to Queen Berengaria as 
her captive.* 

After the conclusion of the nuptials and coronation of Beren- 
garia, her royal bridegroom once more hoisted his flag on his 
good galley Trenc-thc-mere, and set sail in beautiful summer 
weather for Palestine. Berengaria and her sister-in-law again 

♦ Isaac afterwards entered among the Templars, and in their order died. Richard 
presented his island to Guy de Lusignan, his friend, as a compenaation for the loss 
of Jerusalem. This dethronement of Isaac, and the captivity of his daughter, were 
the origin of Richard's imprisonment in Germany, as we shall presently see. 



56 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE, 

sailed under the protection of Sir Stephen de Turnham, it being 
safer than companionship with the warlike Richard. Their 
galley made the port of Acre before the Trenc-the-mere. 

" On their arrival at Acre, though," says Bernard le Treso- 
rier, " it was very grievous to the king of France to know that 
Richard was married to any other than his sister ; yet he re- 
ceived Berengaria with great courtesy, taking her in his arms, 
and lifting her on shore himself from the boat to the beach." 

Richard appeared before Acre on the long bright day of St. 
Barnabas, when the whole allied army, elated by the naval vic- 
tory he had won by the way, marched to the beach to welcome 
their champion. " The earth shook with footsteps of the Chris- 
tians, and the sound of their shouts." 

When Acre was taken, Richard established his queen and 
sister safely there. They remained at Acre with the Cypriot 
princess, during the whole of the Syrian campaign, under the 
care of Richard's Castellans, Bertrand de Verbun and Stephen 
de Munchenis. 

To the left of the mosque at Acre are the ruins of a palace, 
called, to this day, King Richard's Palace.^ This was doubtless 
the abode of Berengaria 

There is not a more pleasant spot in history than the tender 

friendship of Berengaria and Joanna, who formed an attachment 

amidst the perils and terrors of storm and siege, ending only 

with their lives. How quaintly, yet expressively, is their gentle 

and feminine love for each other marked by the sweet simplicity 

of the words, 

*' They held each other dear, 

And lived like doves in cage !" 

* Dr. Clarke's Travels. The tradition is that Richard built the Palace ; but he 
had no time for any such work. This architecture is Saracenic, and was doubt- 
less a palace of the resident emir of Acre. 



BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 57 

noting, at the same time, the harem-like seclusion in which the 
royal ladies dwelt, while sharing the crusade campaign. 

It was from the citadel of Acre that Richard tore down the 
banner of Leopold, archduke of Austria, who was the uncle of 
the Cypriot lady. Her captivity was the real matter of dispute. 

We have little space to dwell on Richard's deeds of romantic 
valor in Palestine, on the capture of Ascalon, or the battle of 
Jaffa, before which city was killed Richard's good steed, named 
Fanuelle, whose feats in battle are nearly as much celebrated by 
the troubadours as those of his master.^ 

After the death of Fanuelle, Richard was obliged to fight on 
foot. The courteous Saladin, who saw him thus battling, was 
shocked that so accomplished a cavalier should be dismounted, 
and sent him as a present a magnificent Arab charger. Richard 
had the precaution to order one of his knights to mount the 
charger first. The headstrong beast no sooner found a stranger 
on his back, than he took the bit between his teeth, and, refusing 
all control, galloped back to his own quarters, carrying the Chris- 
tian knight into the midst of Saladin's camp. If King Richard 
had ridden the wilful animal, he would in like manner have 
been at the mercy of the Saracens ; and Saladin was so much 
ashamed of the misbehavior of his present, that he could scarcely 
look up while he apologized to the Christian knight ; for it ap- 
peared as if he had laid a trap for the liberty of King Richard. 
He sent back the knight, mounted on a more manageable steed, 
on which Richard rode to the end of the campaign. 

King Richard, during his Syrian campaign, was once within 

* By some called Favelle, probably Flavel, meaning? yellow-colored. Vinisauf 
declares this peerless charger was taken among the spoils of Cyprus, with another 
named Lyard. The cavaliers in ancient times named their steeds from their color, 
as Bayard, bay-color j Lyard, gray ; Ferraunf, black as iron j Flavel, yellow, or very 
light sorrel. 



58 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

sight of Jerusalem, but never took it. While lie was with his 
queen, Berengaria, at Acre, an incident befell him, of which de 
Joinville, the companion in arms of St. Louis, has thus pre- 
served the memory : — 

" In those times, when Hugh, Duke of Burgundy, and King 
Richard of England, were abiding at Acre, they received intelli- 
gence that they might take Jerusalem if they chose, for its gar- 
rison had gone to the assistance of Damascus. The Duke of 
Burgundy and King Richard accordingly marched towards the 
holy city. King Richard's battalions leading the way, while 
Burgundy's force brought up the rear. But when King 
Richard drew near to Jerusalem, intelligence was brought him 
that the Duke of Burgundy had turned back with his division, 
out of pure envy, that it might not be said that the King of 
England had taken Jerusalem. As these tidings were dis- 
cussing, one of the King of England's knights cried out, 

'' ' Sire, sire, only come hither, and I will show you Jeru- 
salem.' 

" But the king, throwing down his weapons, said, with tears 
in his eyes, and hands uplifted to heaven — 

" ' Ah ! Lord God, I pray thee that I may never see thy 
holy city Jerusalem, since things thus happen, and since I can- 
not deliver it from the hands of thine enemies !' Richard 
could do nothing more than return to his queen and sister at 
Acre. 

" You must know that this King Richard performed such 
deeds of prowess when he was in the Holy Land, that the 
Saracens, on seeing their horses frightened at a shadow or a 
bush, cried out to them, ' What ! dost think Melech-Ric is 
there ?' This they were accustomed to say from the many times 
he had vanquished them. In like manner, when the children of 



BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 59 

Turks or Saracens cried, their mothers said to them, ' Hush, 
hush ! or I will give you to King Eichard ;' and from the terror 
of these words the babes were instantly quiet." 

The Provencal historian affirms, that the final truce between 
Richard and Saladin was concluded in a fair flowery meadow 
near Mount Tabor, where Eichard was so much charmed with 
the gallant bearing of the Prince of Miscreants, as Saladin is 
civilly termed in the crusading treaties, that he declared he 
would rather be the friend of that brave and honest pagan, than 
the ally of the crafty Philip or the brutal Leopold. 

The autumn of 1192 had commenced, when King Eichard 
concluded his peace with Saladin, and prepared to return, 
covered with fruitless glory, to his native dominions. A mys- 
terious estrangement had at this time taken place between him 
and Berengaria ; yet the chroniclers do not mention that any 
rival had supplanted the queen, but merely that accidents of 
war had divided him from her company. As for the Cypriot 
princess, if he were estranged from his queen, he must likewise 
have been separated from the fair captive, since she always 
remained with Berengaria. 

The king bade farewell to his queen and sister, and saw them 
embark the very evening of his own departure. The queens 
were accompanied by the Cypriot princess, and sailed from 
Acre, under the care of Stephen de Turnham, September the 
29th. Eichard meant to retm-n by a different route across 
Europe. He traveled in the disguise of a Templar, and em- 
barked in a ship belonging to the master of the Temple. This 
vessel was wrecked off the coast of Istria, which forced Eichard 
to proceed homewards through the domains of his enemy, Leo- 
pold of Austria. But to his ignorance of geography is attri- 
buted his near approach to Leopold's capUal. After several 



60 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

narrow escapes, a page sent by Eichard to purchase provisions 
at a village near Vienna, was recognized by an officer who had 
made the late crusade with Leopold. The boy was seized, and, 
after enduring cruel torments, he confessed where he had left 
his master. 

When Leopold received certain intelligence where Kichard 
harbored, the inn was searched, but not a soul found there who 
bore any appearance of a king. " No," said the people, 
" there is no one here, without he be the Templar in the 
kitchen, now turning the fowls which are roasting for dinner." 
The officers of Leopold took the hint and went into the kitchen, 
where in fact was seated a Templar very busy turning the spit. 
The Austrian chevalier, who had served in the crusade, knew 
him, and said quickly, " There he is — seize him !" 

Coeur de Lion started from the spit, and did battle for his 
liberty right valiantly, but was overborne by numbers. 

The revengeful Leopold immediately imprisoned his gallant 
enemy, and. immured him so closely in a Styrian castle, called 
Tenebreuse, that for months no one knew whether the lion- 
hearted king was alive or dead. Eichard, whose heroic name 
was the theme of admiration in Europe, and the burden of every 
song, seemed vanished from the face of the earth. 

Better fortune attended the vessel that bore the fair freight 
of the three royal ladies. Stephen de Turnham's galley arrived 
without accident at Naples, where Berengaria, Joanna, and the 
Cypriot princess, landed safely, and, under the care of Sir 
Stephen, journeyed to Rome. 

The Proven9al traditions declare, that, here Berengaria first 
took the alarm that some disaster had happened to her lord, 
from seeing a belt of jewels offered for sale, which she knew had 
been in his possession when she parted from him. At Eome 



BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 61 

she likewise heard some vague reports of his shipwreck, and of 
the enmity of the emperor Henry YI. 

Berengaria was detained at Rome with her royal companions, 
by her fear of the emperor, for upwards of half a year. At 
length the pope, moved by her distress and earnest entreaties, 
sent them under the care of Messire Mellar, one of the car- 
dinals, to Pisa, whence they proceeded to Genoa, where they 
took shipping to Marseilles. At Marseilles, Berengaria was met 
by her friend and kinsman, the King of Arragon, who showed 
the royal ladies every mark of reverence, gave them safe con- 
duct through his Provengal domains, and sent them on under 
the escort of the Count de Sancto Egidio. 

This Egidio is doubtless the gallant Raymond Count St. 
Grilles, who, traveling from Rome with a strong escort, offered 
his protection to the distressed queens ; and though his father, 
the Count of Toulouse, had during Richard's crusade invaded 
Gruienne, and drawn on himself a severe chastisement from 
Berengaria's faithful brother, Sancho the Strong ; yet the young 
count so well acquitted himself of his charge, that he won the 
affections of the fair widow. Queen Joanna, on the journey. 
The attachment of these lovers healed the enmity that had long 
subsisted between the house of Aquitaine and that of the Counts 
of Toulouse, on account of the superior claims of Queen Elean- 
ora on that great fief. When Eleanora found the love that sub- 
sisted between her youngest child and the heir of Toulouse, she 
conciliated his father by giving up her rights to her daughter, 
and Berengaria had the satisfaction of seeing her two friends 
united after she arrived at Poitou. 

Now Queen Berengaria is left safely in her own dominions, it 
is time to return to her unfortunate lord, who seems to have 
been destined by the malice of Leopold to a life-long incarcera- 



62 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

tion. The royal prisoner almost despaired of liberty when he 
wrote th'at pathetic passage in his well-known Proven gal tenson, 
saying, " Now know I for a certainty that there exists for me 
neither friend nor parent, or for the lack of gold and silver I 
should not so long remain a prisoner." 

He scarcely did justice to his affectionate mother, who, 
directly she learned his captivity, never ceased exerting herself 
for his release. 

Without giving any credence to the ballad story of King 
Richard and the Lion's heart, which solely seems to have arisen 
from a metaphorical epithet of the troubadour Peyrols,^ and is 
not even alluded to by the most imaginative of contemporary 
chroniclers, it really appears that Eichard was ill-treated during 
his German captivity. Matthew Paris declares, he was thrown 
into a dungeon, from whence no other man ever escaped with 
life, and was loaded with irons ; yet his countenance was ever 
serene, and his conversation pleasant and facetious, with the 
crowds of armed guards by whom he was surrounded day and 
night. 

It was a long time before Richard's friends could with any 
certainty make out his locality. He was utterly lost for some 
months. Blondel, a troubadour knight and poet, who had been 
shipwrecked with him on the coast of Istria, and who had 

^ In the beautiful crusade sirvente extant by Peyrols, he calls the king lion- 
hearted Richard. Peyrols was his fellow-soldier. — (Sismondi.) 

The earliest chronicler who mentions the lion legend is Rastall, the brother-in- 
law of Sir Thomas More, who had no better means of knowing the truth than we 
have. Here are his quaint sayings on the subject : — 

" It is said that a lyon was put to King Richard, being in prison, to have devoured 
him, and when the lyon was gaping he put his arm in his mouth and pulled the lion 
by the heart so hard that he slew the lyon, and therefore is called Cceur de Lyon j 
while others say he is called Cceur de Lyon, because of his boldness and hardy 
stomach." 



BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 63 

sought him througli the cities of southern Grermany, sang, be- 
neath the tower Tenebreuse in which he was confined, a tenson 
which Richard and he had composed together. Scarcely had he 
finished the first stanza, when Richard replied with the second. 
Blondel directly went to Queen Eleanora, and gave her tidings 
of the existence of her son, and she took measures for his 
release. Her letters to the pope are written with a passionate 
eloquence, highly illustrative of that tradition of the south which 
names her among the poets of her country : — 

" Mother of pity," she says, '' look upon a mother of so 
many afflictions ! or, if thy holy Son, the fountain of mercy, 
afflicts my son for my transgression, oh, let me, who am the 
cause, endure alone the punishment. 

" Two sons alone remain for my succor, who but indeed sur- 
vive for my misery ; for King Richard exists in fetters, while 
Prince John, brother to the captive, depopulates with the 
sword, and wastes with fire. The Lord is against me, his 
wrath fights against me ; therefore do my children fight against 
each other !" 

The queen-mother here alludes to the strife raised by Prince 
John. He had obtained his brother's leave to abide in England 
on condition that he submitted to the government established 
there. Queen Eleanora had intended to fix her residence at 
Rouen, as a central situation between her own dominions and 
those of King Richard. But the confused state of aifairs in 
England summoned her thither, February 11, 1192. She 
found John in open rebellion, for, stimulated by messages from 
Philip Augustus, ofibring him all Richard's continental pro- 
vinces and the hand of Alice rejected by Richard, lie aimed at 
nothinor less than the Enolish crown. The arrival of his mother 
curbed his turbulence ; she told him to touch his brother's 



64 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

rights under peril of her curse ; she forbade his disgraceful in- 
tention of allying himself with Alice ; and, to render such mis- 
chievous project impossible, she left that princess in close 
confinement at Rouen, instead of delivering her to Philip 
Augustus, as King Richard had agreed ; so little truth is there 
in the common assertion, that the worthless character of John 
might be attributed to the encouragement his vices received 
from his mother ; but it was the doting affection of Henry II. 
for his youngest son that had this effect, as he was the child of 
his old age and constantly near him, while the queen was kept 
in confinement at a distance from her family. 

When Queen Eleanora and the chief justiciary heard of the 
detention of King Richard, they sent two abbots to confer with 
him in Grermany. They met him with his guards on the road 
to Worms, where a diet of the empire was soon to be held, and 
were received by him with his usual spirit and animation. He 
inquired into the state of his friends, his subjects, and his 
dominions, and particularly after the health of the King of 
Scotland, on whose honor, he said, he entirely relied ; and cer- 
tainly he was not deceived in his judgment of the character of 
that hero. On hearing of the base conduct of his brother John, 
he was shocked and looked grave ; but presently recovering his 
cheerfulness, he said, with a smile, '' My brother John was 
never made for conquering kingdoms !" 

Richard defended himself before the diet with eloquence and 
pathos that drew tears from most of his hearers ; and the medi- 
ation of the princes of the empire induced the emperor to ac- 
cept as ransom one hundred thousand marks of silver. 

Meantime the ransom was collected in England, Normandy, 
and Aquitaine, to which Queen Eleanora largely contributed. 
When the first installment was ready, this affectionate mother 



BENENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 65 

and the chief justiciary set out for G-ermany, a little before 
Christmas. Queen Eleanora was accompanied by her grand- 
daughter, Eleanora, surnamed the Pearl of Brittany. This 
young princess was promised, by the ransom-treaty, in marriage 
to the heir of Leopold of Austria. The Cypriot princess was like- 
ewise taken from the keeping of Queen Berengaria, on the de- 
mand of the emperor, and surrendered to her German relatives. 

It was owing to the exertions of the gallant Guelphic princes, 
his relations, that the actual liberation of Coeur de Lion was at 
last eifected. Henry the Lion, Duke of Saxony, and his sons 
appeared before the diet, and pleaded the cause of the English 
hero with the most passionate eloquence ; they pledged their 
credit for the payment of the remainder of his ransom, and ac- 
tually left William of Winchester, the youngest Guelphic prince, 
in pawn with the emperor for the rest of the ransom. 

After an absence of four years, three months, and nine days. 
King Richard landed at Sandwich, in April, the Sunday after 
St. George's day, in company with his royal mother, who had 
the pleasure of surrendering to him his dominions, both insular 
and continental, without diminution. 

Eleanora 's detention of the Princess Alice in Normandy had 
drawn on that country a fierce invasion from Philip Augustus, 
the result of which would have been doubtful, if the tears of 
Berengaria, then newly arrived in Aquitaine, had not prevailed 
on her noble brother, Sancho the Strong, to traverse France 
with two hundred choice knights. By the valor of this hero, 
and his chivalric reinforcement, Normandy was delivered from 
the King of France. 

Berengaria, during the imprisonment of her royal husband, 
lost her father, Sancho the Wise, King of Navarre, who died in 
1194, after a glorious reign of forty-four years. 



66 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

After a second coronation, Richard went in progress through- 
out England, with his royal mother, to sit in judgment on those 
Castellans who had betrayed their fortresses to his brother John. 
At all these councils Queen Eleanora assisted him, being treated 
by her son with the utmost reverence, and sitting in state at his 
right hand. 

The magnanimous Cosur de Lion treated these rebels with 
great lenity ; and when Prince John, on the arrival of the king 
at Rouen, being introduced by Queen Eleanora, knelt at his 
brother's feet for pardon, he raised him with this remarkable 
expression — '' I forgive you, John, and I wish I could as easily 
forget your offence as you will my pardon." 

King Richard finished his progress by residing some months 
in his Angevin territories. Although he was in the vicinity of 
the loving and faithful Berengaria, he did not return to her so- 
ciety. The reason of this estrangement was, that the king had 
renewed his connection with a number of profligate and worth- 
less associates, the companions of his long bachelor-hood in his 
father's lifetime. His conduct at this time infinitely scandalized 
all his subjects, as he abandoned himself to drinking and great 
infamy ; for which various virtuous churchmen reproved him 
boldly, to their credit be it spoken. 

^' The spring of 1195, Richard was hunting in one of his 
Norman forests, when he was met by a hermit, who recognized 
him, and preached him a very eloquent sermon on his irregular 
life, finishing by prophesying, that unless he repented, his end 
and punishment were close at hand. The king answered slight- 
ingly, and went his way ; but the Easter following he was seized 
with a most severe illness, which threatened to be fatal, when 
he remembered the saying of the hermit-prophet, and, greatly 
alarmed, he began to repent of his sins." 



BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 67 

Richard sent for all the monks withm ten miles round, and 
made public confession of his iniquities, vowing, that if Queen 
Berengaria would forgive him, he would send for her, and never 
forsake her again. 

The final restoration of Berengaria to the affections of her 
royal husband took place a few months after, when Bichard pro- 
ceeded to Poictiers, where he was reconciled to his queen, and 
kept Christmas and the new year of 1196 in that city, with 
princely state and hospitality. It was a year of great scarcity 
and famine, and the beneficent queen exerted her restored in- 
fluence over the heart of the king, by persuading him to give 
all his superfluous money in bountiful alms to the poor ; and 
through her goodness many were kept from perishing. From 
that time Queen Berengaria and King Bichard were never 
parted. She found it best to accompany him in all his cam- 
paigns ; and we find her with him at the hour of his death. 

Higden, in the Polychronichon, gives this testimony to the 
love that Berengaria bore to Bichard : — ^^ The king took home 
to him his queen Berengaria, whose society he had for a long time 
neglected, though she were a royal, eloquent, and beauteous 
lady, and for his love had ventured with him through the world." 

The same year the king, despairing of heirs by his consort, 
sent for young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, that the boy might 
be educated at his court as future king of England. His mother, 
Constance, out of enmity to Queen Eleanora, unwisely refused 
this request, and she finished her folly by declaring for the king 
of France, then waging a fierce war against Bichard. This step 
cost her hapless child his inheritance, and finally his life. From 
this time Bichard acknowledo-cd his brother John as his heir. 

o 

The remaining three years of Bichard's life was spent in petty 
provincial wars with the king of France. In one of his treaties, 



68 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

the Princess Alice was at last surrendered to her brother, who 
gave her, with (a tarnished reputation, and) the dowry of the 
county of Ponthieu, in marriage to the Count of Aumerle, when 
she had arrived at her thirty-fifth year. 

After the reconciliation between Kichard and Berengaria, the 
royal revenues arising from the tin-mines in Cornwall and Devon, 
valued at two thousand marks per annum, were confirmed to the 
queen for her dower. Her continental dower was the city of 
Bigorre in Aquitaine, and the whole county of Mans. 

It was the lively imagination of Bichard, heated by the splen- 
did fictions of Arabian romance, that hurried him to his end. 
A report was brought to him that a peasant plowing in the fields 
of Yidomar, Lord of Chaluz, in Aquitaine, had struck upon a 
trap-door which concealed an enchanted treasure, and going 
down into a cave discovered several golden statues with vases 
full of diamonds, all of which had been secured in the castle of 
Chaluz, for the private use of the Sieur de Vidomar. Bichard, 
when he heard this fine tale, sent to Vidomar, demanding, as 
sovereign of the country, his share of the golden statues. The 
poor Castellan declared that no such treasure had been found ; 
nothing but a pot of Boman coins had been discovered, and those 
he was welcome to have. 

As Bichard had set his mind on golden statues and vases of 
diamonds, and had thriven so well when he demanded the golden 
furniture from King Tancred, it was not probable he could lower 
his ideas to the reality stated by the unfortunate Lord of Yido- 
mar. Accordingly he marched to besiege the Castle of Chaluz, 
sending word to Yidomar either to deliver the statues, or abide 
the storming of the castle. To this siege Queen Berengaria 
accompanied the king. Here Bichard met his death, being 
pierced from the walls by an arrow from an arbalista, or cross- 



BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 69 

bow, aimed by the hand of Bertrand de Gordon. It was the 
unskillfulness of the surgeon, who mangled the king's shoulder 
in cutting out the arrow, joined to Richard's own willfulness in 
neglecting the regimen of his physicians, that caused the morti- 
fication of a trifling wound, and occasioned the death of a hero, 
who to many faults joined a redeeming generosity that showed 
itself in his last moments. After enduring great agony from his 
wound, as he drew near to death, the Castle of Chaluz was 
taken. He caused Bertrand de Gordon to be brought before 
him, and telling him he was dying, asked him whether he 
had discharged the fatal arrow with the intention of slaying 
him ? 

'' Yes, tyrant,'' replied Gordon ; " for to you I owe the deaths 
of my father and my brother, and my first wish was to be re- 
venged on you." 

Notwithstanding the boldness of this avowal, the dying king 
commanded Gordon to be set at liberty, and it was not his fault 
that his detestable mercenary general, the Fleming, Marcade, 
caused him to be put to a cruel death. 

Richard's death took place April 6th, 1199; his queen un- 
questionably was with him when he died. She corroborated the 
testimony that he left his dominions and two-thirds of his trea- 
sures to his brother John. 

Richard appears to have borne some personal resemblance to 
his great uncle, William Rufus. Like him, his hair and com- 
plexion were warm in color, and his eyes blue and fiercely spark- 
ling. Like Rufus, his strength was prodigious, but he had the 
advantage of a tall majestic figure. There are some points of 
resemblance in character between Richard and his collateral an- 
cestor, though Richard must be considered a more learned and 
elegant prince, and susceptible, witlial, of more frequent im- 



70 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

pulses of generosity and penitence. They both seem to have 
excelled in the same species of wit and lively repartee. 

At the time of King Richard's death, Matthew Paris declares 
Queen Eleanora, his mother, was governing England, " where," 
adds that historian, " she was exceedingly respected and beloved." 

Before the body of Coeur de Lion was committed to the grave, 
an additional load of anguish assailed the heart of his royal 
widow, through the calamities that befell Joanna, her friend, and 
Richard's favorite sister. The persecution on account of reli- 
gion that afterwards visited Joanna's gallant son, in the well- 
known war against the Albigenses, had already attacked his 
father incipiently. Owing to the secret agitations of the Catholic 
clergy, the Barons of Toulouse were in arms against the gallant 
Raymond. Queen Joanna, though in a state little consistent 
with such exertions, flew to arms for the relief of her adored 
lord. We translate the following mournful passage from Gruil- 
laume de Puy-Laurens ; — " Queen Joanna was a woman of great 
courage, and was highly sensitive to the injuries of her husband. 
She laid siege to the Castle of Ceasar ; but, owing to the treach- 
ery of her attendants, her camp was fired — she escaped with 
difficulty from the burning tents, much scorched and hurt. Un- 
subdued by this accident, she hastened to lay her wrongs before 
her beloved brother, King Richard. She found he had just ex^ 
pired as she arrived. The pains of premature child-birth seized 
her as she heard the dire intelligence, and she sank under the 
double affliction of mental and corporeal agony. With her last 
breath she begged to be laid near her brother Richard." To 
Berengaria the request was made, and the cold remains of the 
royal brother and sister, the dearest objects of the sorrowing 
queen's affections, were laid, by her pious care, side by side in 
the stately abbey of Fontevraud. 



BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE- 71 

The death of Joanna was immediately succeeded by that of 
Berengaria's only sister Blanche. This princess had been given 
in marriage by Coeur de Lion to his nephew and friend, the trou- 
badour-prince, Thibaut of Champagne. The Princess Blanche 
died the day after the birth of a son, who afterwards was the 
heir both of Sancho and Berengaria, and finally King of Navarre. 
Thus, in the course of a few short weeks, was the Queen of Eng- 
land bereft of all that were near and dear to her ; the world had 
become a desert to Berengaria before she left it for a life of con- 
ventual seclusion. 

Queen Berengaria fixed her residence at Mans in the Orlean- 
nois, where she held a great part of her foreign dower. Here 
she founded the noble Abbey of L'Espan. 

Once Queen Berengaria left her widowed retirement, when 
she met her brother-in-law. King John, and his fair young bride, 
at Chinon, her husband's treasure city. Here she compounded 
with the English monarch, for the dower she held in England, 
for two thousand marks per annum, to be paid half-yearly. 
After being entertained with royal magnificence, and receiving 
every mark of respect from the English court, the royal widow 
bade farewell to public splendor, and retired to conventual seclu- 
sion, and the practice of constant charity. But no sooner was 
John fixed firmly on the English throne, than he began to neglect 
the payment of the dower for which his sister-in-law had com- 
pounded ; and in 1206, there appears in the Foedera a passport 
for the queen-dowager to come to England for the purpose of 
conferring with King John ; but there exists no authority where- 
by we can prove that she arrived in England. 

The records of 1209 present a most elaborate epistle from 
Pope Innocent, setting forth the wrongs and wants of his dear 
daughter in Clirist, Berengaria, who, he says, had appealed to 



72 BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

him '' with floods of tears streaming down her cheeks, and with 
audible cries" — which, we trust, were flowers of rhetoric of the 
pope's secretary. As Pope Innocent threatens John with an 
interdict, it is pretty certain that the wrongs of Berengaria 
formed a clause in the subsequent excommunication of the felon 
king. 

In 1214, when the excommunication was taken off", there ex- 
ists a letter from John to his dear sister, the illustrious Beren- 
garia, praying that the pope's nuncio might arbitrate what was 
due to her. The next year brings a piteous letter from King 
John, praying that his dearly-beloved sister will excuse his delay 
of payment, seeing the " greatness of his adversity by reason of 
the wickedness of his magnates and barons," who had invited 
Prince Louis of France to spoil her estates ; " but when," says 
King John, " these clouds that have overcast our serenity shall 
disperse, and our kingdom be full of joyful tranquillity, then the 
pecuniary debt owed to our dear sister shall be paid joyfully and 
thankfully." 

This precious epistle was penned July 8th, 1216, by John, 
but he died the succeeding October, and Berengaria 's debt was 
added to the vast sum of his other trespasses ; for ''joyful tran- 
quillity" never came for him, nor of course her time of pay- 
ment. 

In the reign of Henry III., Berengaria had again to require 
the pope's assistance for the payment of her annuity. Her 
arrears at that time amounted to ^4040 sterling ; but the 
Templars became guarantees and agents for her payments ; and 
from that time the pecuniary troubles of Berengaria cease to 
form a feature in our national records. 

The date of Berengaria's death has generally been fixed about 
the year 1230, but that was only the year of the completion of 



BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 73 

her Abbey of Espan, and of her final retirement from the 
world, as from that time she took up her abode within its walls, 
and finished there her blameless life, at an advanced age, some 
years afterwards. 

Berengaria was interred in her own stately abbey. The fol- 
lowing most interesting particulars of her monument we tran- 
scribe from the noble work of the late Mr. Stothard, edited by 
his accomplished widow, Mrs. Bray : — 

'' When Mr. Stothard visited the Abbey of L'Espan, nearJM 
Mans, in search of the effigy of Berengaria, he found the church 
converted into a barn, and the object of his inquiry in a muti- 
lated state, concealed under a quantity of wheat. It was in 
excellent preservation, with the exception of the left arm. By 
the effigy were lying the bones of the queen, the silent witnesses 
of the sacrilegious demolition of the tomb. After some search, 
a portion of the arm belonging to the statue was recovered." 
Three men who had assisted in the work of destruction, stated, 
'' that the monument with the figure upon it stood in the centre 
of the aisle, at the east end of the church ; that there was no 
coffin within it, but a small square box, containing bones, pieces 
of linen, some stuff embroidered with gold, and a slate, on which 
was found an inscription." The slate was found in possession 
of a canon of the church of St. Julien, at Mans ; upon it was 
engraven an inscription, of which the following is a trans- 
lation : — 

'' The tomb of the most serene Berengaria, Queen of Eng- 
land, the noble founder of this monastery, was restored and re- 
moved to this more sacred place. In it were deposited the 
bones which were found in the ancient sepulchre, on the 27th 
May, in the year of our Lord 1672." 

The sides of the tomb are ornamented with deep quatre- 



74' BERENGARIA OF NAVARRE. 

foils. The effigy which was upon it is in high relief. It repre- 
sents the queen with her hair unconfined, but partly concealed 
by the cover chief, over which is placed an elegant crown. Her 
mantle is fastened by a narrow band crossing her breast ; a large 
fermail, or brooch, richly set with stones, confines her tunic at 
the neck. To an ornamental girdle, which encircles her waist, 
is attached a small aumoniere or purse. This greatly resembles 
a modern reticule, with a chain and clasped top. The queen 
^^^holds in her hands a box, singular from the circumstance of its 
'Wiaving embossed on the cover a second representation of her- 
* self, as lying on a bier, with waxen torches burning in candle- 
sticks on either side of her. 

From early youth to her grave, Berengaria manifested 
devoted love for Kichard — uncomplaining when deserted by 
him, forgiving when he returned, and faithful to his memory 
unto death. The royal Berengaria, Queen of England, though 
never m England, little deserves to be forgotten by any admirer 
of feminine and conjugal virtue. 



J. n ^ M- 






' v\ 







[L ^., m m ^ 



H?f^sd.iy TVlfAsr^n. 



Laura, rendered immortal by the love and lyre of Petrarch, 
was the daughter of Audibert de Noves, who was of the haute 
noblesse of Avignon. He died in the infancy of Laura, leaving 
her a dowry of one thousand gold crowns, (about fifty thousand 
dollars,) a magnificent portion for those times. She was married 
at the age of eighteen to Hugh de Sade, a young noble only a 
few years older than his bride, but not distinguished by any ad- 
vantages either of person or mind. The marriage contract is 
dated in January, 1325, two years before her first meeting with 
Petrarch ; and in it her mother, the Lady Ermessende, and her 
brother, John de Noves, stipulate to pay the dower left by her 
father ; and also to bestow on the bride two magnificent dresses 
for state occasions — one of green, embroidered with violets, the 
other of crimson, trimmed with feathers. In all the portraits 
of Laura now extant, she is represented in one of these two 
dresses, and they are frequently alluded to by Petrarch. He 
tells us expressly that, when he first met her at matins in the 
church of Saint Claire, she was habited in a robe of green spotted 
with violets. Mention is also made of a coronal of silver with 
which she wreathed her hair — of her necklaces and ornaments 
of pearls. Diamonds are not once alluded to, because the art 
of cutting them had not then been invented. From all which it 
appears that Laura was opulent, and moved in the first class of 
society. It was customary for women of rank in those times to 



78 LAURA. 

dress with extreme simplicity on ordinary occasions, but with the 
most gorgeous splendor when they appeared in public. 

There are some beautiful descriptions of Laura surrounded by 
her young female companions, divested of all her splendid ap- 
parel, in a simple white robe and a few flowers in her hair, but 
still preeminent over all by her superior loveliness. 

She was in person a fair. Madonna-like beauty, with soft dark 
eyes, and a profusion of pale golden hair parted on her brow, 
and falling in rich curls over her neck. The general character 
of her beauty must have been pensive, soft, unobtrusive, and 
even somewhat languid. This softness and repose must have 
been far removed from insipidity, for Petrarch dwells on the 
rare and varying expression of her loveliness, the lightening of 
her smile, and the tender magic of her voice, which was felt in 
the inmost heart. He dwells on the celestial grace of her figure 
and movements, and describes the beauty of her hand and the 
loveliness of her mouth. She had a habit of veiling her eyes 
with her ha.nd, and her looks were generally bent on the earth. 

In a portrait of Laura, in the Laurentinian library at Flo- 
rence, the eyes have this characteristic downcast look. 

Laura was distinguished, then, by her rank and fortune, but 
more by her loveliness, her sweetness, and the untainted purity 
of her life and manners in the midst of a society noted for its 
licentiousness. Now she is known as the subject of Petrarch's 
verses, as the woman who inspired an immortal passion, and, 
kindling into living fire the dormant sensibility of the poet, gave 
origin to the most beautiful and refined, the most passionate and 
yet the most delicate amatory poetry that exists in the world. 

Petrarch was twenty-three years of age when he first felt the 
power of a violent and inextinguishable passion. At six in the 
morning on the sixth of April, a. d. 1327, (he often fondly 



LAURA. 79 

records the exact year, day and hour,) on the occasion of the 
festival of Easter, he visited the church of Saint Claire at Avig- 
non, and beheld, for the first time, Laura de Sade. She was 
just twenty years of age, and in the bloom of beauty — a beauty 
so touching and heavenly, so irradiated by purity and smiling 
innocence, and so adorned by gentleness and modesty, that the 
first sight stamped the image in the poet's heart, never there- 
after to be erased. 

Petrarch beheld the loveliness and sweetness of the young 
beauty, and was transfixed. He sought acquaintance with her ; 
and while the manners of the times prevented his entering her 
house, he enjoyed many opportunities of meeting her in society, 
and of conversing with her. He would have declared his love, 
but her reserve enforced silence. '^ She opened my breast and 
took my heart into her hand, saying ' speak no word of this,' " 
he writes. Yet the reverence inspired by her modesty and 
dignity was not always sufficient to restrain her lover. Being 
alone with her on one occasion, and she appearing more gracious 
than usual, Petrarch tremblingly and fearfully confessed his pas- 
sion ; but she, with altered looks, replied, " I am not the person 
you take me for !" Her displeasure froze the very heart of the 
poet, so that he fled from her presence in grief and dismay. 

No attentions on his part could make any impression on her 
steady and virtuous mind. While love and youth drove him 
on, she remained impregnable and firm ; and when she found 
that he still rushed wildly forward, she preferred forsaking to 
following him to the precipice down which he would have hurried 
her. Meanwhile, as he gazed on her angelic countenance, and 
saw purity painted on it, his love grew spotless as herself Love 
transforms the true lover into a resemblance of the object of his 
passion. In a town, which was the asylum of vice, calumny 



80 LAURA. 

never breathed a taint upon Laura's name ; her actions, her 
words, the very expression of her countenance, and her slightest 
gestures were replete with modest reserve combined with sweet- 
ness, and won the applause of all. 

Francesco Petrarch was of Florentine extraction, and the son 
of a notary, who, being held in great esteem by his fellow- 
citizens, had filled several public offices. 

When the Ghibelines were banished Florence, in 1302, Pe- 
traccolo was included in the number of exiles ; his property was 
confiscated, and he retired with his wife, Eletta Canigiani, whom 
he had lately married, to the town of Arrezzo, in Tuscany. 
And here on the night of the 20th of July, 1304, Petrarch first 
saw the light. When the child was seven months old his mother 
was permitted to return from banishment, and she established 
herself at a country house belonging to her husband, near An- 
cisa, a small town fifteen miles from Florence. The infant who, 
at his birth, it was supposed would not survive, was exposed to 
imminent peril during this journey. In fording a rapid stream, 
the man who had charge of him carried him, wrapped in swad- 
dling clothes, at the end of a stick ; he fell from, his horse, and 
the babe slipped from the fastenings into the water, from which, 
however, he was rescued, uninjured. 

The youth of Petrarch was obscure in point of fortune, but 
it was attended by all the happiness that springs from family 
concord, and the excellent character of his parents. At the 
age of fifteen he was sent to study in the University of Montpel- 
lier, then frequented by a vast concourse of students. His father 
intended his son to pursue the study of the law, as the profession 
best suited to insure his reputation and fortune ; but to this 
pursuit Francesco was invincibly repugnant. He was soon after 
sent to Bologna, where, as at Montpellier, he continued to dis- 



LAURA. 81 

play great taste for literature, mucli to his father's dissatisfac- 
tion. 

At Bologna, Petrarch made considerable progress in the 
study of the law, moved thereto, doubtless, by the entreaties of 
his excellent parent. 

After three years spent at Bologna, Petrarch was recalled to 
France by the death of his father. Soon after his mother died 
also, and he and his brother were left entirely to their own 
guidance, with very slender means, and those diminished by the 
dishonesty of those whom his father named as trustees to their 
fortune. Under these circumstances Petrarch entirely aban- 
doned the profession of the law, as it occurred to both him and 
his brother that the clerical profession was their best resource in 
a city where the priesthood reigned supreme. They resided at 
Avignon, and became the favorites and companions of the eccle- 
siastical and lay nobles who formed the papal court. His talents 
and accomplishments were of course the cause of this distinction ; 
besides that his personal advantages were such as to prepossess 
every one in his favor. He was so handsome as frequently to 
attract observation when he passed along the streets. When, 
to the utmost simplicity and singleness of mind, were added 
splendid talents, the charm of poetry, so highly valued in the 
country of the Troubadours, an affectionate and generous dispo- 
sition, vivacious and pleasing manners, an engaging and attrac- 
tive exterior, we cannot wonder that Petrarch was the darling 
of his age, the associate of its greatest men, and the man whom 
princes delighted to honor. 

The passion of Petrarch for Laura was purified and exalted 
at the same time. She filled him with noble aspirations, and 
divided him from the common herd. He felt that her influence 
made him superior to vulgar ambition, and rendered him wise. 



82 LAURA. 

true, and great. She saved liim in the dangerous period of 
youth, and gave a worthy aim to all his endeavors. The man- 
ners of his age permitted one solace — a Platonic attachment 
was the fashion of the day. The Troubadours had each a lady 
to adore, to wait upon, and to celebrate in song, without its 
being supposed that she made him any return beyond a gracious 
acceptance of his devoirs, and allowing him to make her the 
heroine of his verses. Petrarch endeavored to merge the living 
passion of his soul into this airy and unsubstantial devotion. 
Laura permitted the homage ; she perceived his merit and was 
proud of his admiration ; she felt the truth of his affection, and 
indulged the wish of preserving it and her own honor at the 
same time. Without her inflexibility, this had been a dangerous 
experiment ; but she always kept her lover distant from her — 
rewarding his reserve with smiles, and repressing by frowns all 
the overflowings of his heart. 

By her resolute severity, she incurred the danger of ceasing 
to be the object of his attachment, and of losing the gift of an 
immortal name, which he has conferred upon her. But Pe- 
trarch's constancy was proof against hopelessness and time. 
He had too fervent an admiration of her qualifications ever to 
change ; he controlled the vivacity of his feelings, and they 
became deeper rooted. " Untouched by my prayers," he says, 
" unvanquished by my arguments, unmoved by my flattery, she 
remained faithful to her sex's honor ; she resisted her own 
young heart, and mine, and a thousand, thousand things, which 
must have conquered any other. She remained unshaken. A 
woman taught me the duty of a man ! to persuade me to keep 
the path of virtue, her conduct was at once an example and a 
reproach." 

But whether, in this long conflict, Laura preserved her heart 



LAURA. 83 



untouched, as well as her virtue immaculate ; whether she 
shared the love she inspired, or whether she escaped from 
the captivating assiduities and intoxicating homage of her 
lover, " fancy free ;" whether coldness, or prudence, or pride, 
or virtue, or the mere heartless love of admiration, or a mix- 
ture of all together, dictated her conduct, is at least as well 
worth inquiry as the color of her eyes, or the form of her nose, 
upon which we have pages of grave discussion. She might 
have been coquette ;par instinct^ if not jpar calent ; she might 
have felt, with feminine tade^ that, to preserve her influence 
over Petrarch, it was necessary to preserve his respect. She 
was evidently proud of her conquest — she had else been more 
or less than woman ; and at every hazard, but that of self- 
respect, she was resolved to retain him. If Petrarch absented 
himself for a few days, he was generally better treated on his 
return. If he avoided her, then her eye followed him with a 
softer expression. When he looked pale from sickness of heart 
and agitation of spirits, Laura would address him with a few 
words of pitying tenderness. When he presumed on this be- 
nignity, he was again repulsed with frowns. He flew to solitude 
— solitude ! Never let the proud and torn heart, wrung with 
the sense of injury, and sick with unrequited passion, seek that 
worst resource against pain, for there grief grows by contemplat- 
ing itself, and every feeling is sharpened by collision. Petrarch 
sought to '' mitigate the fever of his heart" amid the shades of 
Yaucluse, a spot so gloomy, and so solitary, that his very ser- 
vants forsook him ; and Yaucluse, its fountains, its forests, and 
its hanging cliffs, reflected only the image of Laura. 

He passed several years thus, cut ofi" from society. His books 
were his great resource ; he was never without one in his hand. 
Often he remained in silence from morning till night, wandering 



84 LAURA. 



among the hills when the sun was yet low, and taking refuge, 
during the heat of the day, in his shady garden. At night, after 
performing his clerical duties, (for he was canon of Lombes), 
he rambled among the hills — often entering, at midnight, the 
cavern, whose gloom, even during the day, struck his soul with 
awe. ''Fool that I was!" he exclaims in after-life, ''not to 
have remembered the first school-boy lesson — that solitude is 
the nurse of love !" 

While living at Vaucluse, Petrarch, invited to Eome by the 
Eoman Senate, repaired thither to receive the laurel crown of 
poesy. The ceremony was performed in the Capitol with great 
solemnity, in the presence of all the nobles and high-born ladies 
of the city. Leaving Rome soon after his coronation, he re- 
paired to Parma, where Clement YI. rewarded him for sub- 
sequent political services by naming him prior of Migliarino in 
the diocese of Pisa. 

Petrarch returned to Avignon. The sight of Laura gave 
fresh energy to a passion which had survived the lapse of fifteen 
years. She was no longer the blooming girl who had first 
charmed him. The cares of life had dimmed her beauty. She 
was the mother of many children, and had been afflicted at 
various times by illness. Her home was not happy. Her hus- 
band, without loving or appreciating her, was ill-tempered and 
jealous. Petrarch acknowledged that if her personal charms 
had been her sole attraction he had already ceased to love her. 
But his passion was nourished by sympathy and esteem ; and, 
above all, by that mysterious tyranny of love, which, while it 
exists, the mind of man seems to have no power of resisting, 
though in feebler minds it sometimes vanishes like a dream. 
Petrarch was also changed in personal appearance. His hair 
was sprinkled with gray, and lines of care and sorrow trenched 



LAURA. 85 



his face. On both sides the tenderness of affection began to 
replace, in him the violence of passion, in her the coyness and 
severity she had found necessary to check his pursuit. The 
jealousy of her husband opposed obstacles to their seeing each 
other. They met as they could in public walks and assemblies. 
Laura sang to him, and a soothing familiarity grew up between 
them as her fears became allayed, and he looked forward to the 
time when they might sit together and converse without dread. 

At length he resolved to leave Laura and Avignon forever, 
and instead of plunging into solitude, to seek the wiser resource 
of travel and society. Laura saw him depart with regret. 
When he went to take leave of her, he found her surrounded by 
a circle of her ladies. Her mien was dejected ; a cloud over- 
cast her face, whose expression seemed to say, " Who takes my 
faithful friend from me .?" Petrarch was struck to the heart by 
a sad presentiment — the emotion was mutual — they both 
seemed to feel that they should never meet again. 

Petrarch departed. The plague, which had been extending 
its ravages over Asia, entered Europe. It spread far and wide ; 
nearly one half the population of the world became its prey. 
Petrarch saw thousands die around him, and he trembled for his 
friends. He heard that it was at Avignon. A thousand sad 
presentiments haunted his mind. At last the fatal truth 
reached him, Laura was dead ! By a singular coincidence, she 
died on the anniversary of the day when he first saw her. She 
was taken ill on the third of April, and languished but three 
days. As soon as the symptoms of the plague declared them- 
selves, she prepared to die. She made her will, which is dated 
on the third of April, and received the sacraments of the church. 
On the sixth she died, surrounded by her friends and the noble 
ladies of Avignon, who braved the dangers of infection to attend 



86 LAURA. 



on one so lovely and so beloved. On the evening of the same 
day on which she died, she was interred in the chapel of the 
Cross which her husband had lately built in the church of the 
Minor Friars at Avignon. 

Her tomb was discovered and opened in 1533, in the pre- 
sence of Francis the First, whose celebrated stanzas on the occa- 
sion are well known. 

Of the fame which, even in her lifetime, the love, and the 
poetical adoration of Petrarch had thrown around his Laura, 
curious instance is given which will characterize the manners of 
the age. When Charles of Luxembourg (afterwards Emperor) 
was at Avignon, a grand fete was given, in his honor, at which 
all the noblesse were present. He desired that Petrarch's Laura 
should be pointed out to him ; and when she was introduced, he 
made a sign with his hand that the other ladies present should 
fall back ; then going up to Laura, and for a moment contem- 
plating her with interest, he kissed her respectively on the fore- 
head and on the eyelids. • 

Petrarch survived her twenty-six years, dying in 1374. He 
was found lifeless one morning in his study, his hand resting on 
a book. 



][o^^ of ftirc. 



IQAl Of 1^€, 

THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 

Although woman is so physically constituted as to render the 
more tender and delicate offices of human duty her appropriate 
sphere of action, yet this by no means justifies the illiberal but 
common error that her mental abilities are only equal to her 
corporeal energies. We might adduce numberless instances to 
disprove this inference, for the history of the past is rife with the 
records of the mental strength and moral courage of woman. 
When the holy impulse of maternal or conjugal afiection, the 
noble sentiments of true patriotism, the angelic spirit of genuine 
benevolence, or the awful presence of great danger or death 
have awakened in its fullest strength the more masculine ener- 
gies of the female character, where can we look for more cool 
deliberation, sagacious forethought, or firmness of purpose, than 
such occasions have exhibited ? The pages of holy writ, the 
annals of Greece and Kome, the book of Christian martyrs, the 
records of our revolutionary struggles, all exhibit, in their bright- 
est hues, the moral excellences, and unsubdued strength of wo- 
man. But for undaunted courage, a connection with a series of 
brilliant achievements, and an exhibition of almost superhuman 
strength of character, under every circumstance, history furnishes 
but rare parallels to her whose name stands at the head of this 
article. Nor can history present a more damning stain upon 
the human character, than is pictured in the details of her 
death. 



90 JOANOFARC. 



JeoMne^ or Joan d? Arc^ commonly called tlie Maid of Or- 
leans, was tlie daughter of a poor peasant of Domremy, a town 
situated in the north-east part of France, upon the borders of 
Loraine. The poverty of her parents rendered her earlier years 
a scene of toil in menial services, and even the rudiments of edu- 
cation were denied her by the arbitrary power of circumstances. 
Filled with that true piety which burns with so pure a flame in 
the hearts of many of the rural peasantry of the French pro- 
vinces, her mother was a fit tutor in schooling her child in that 
knowledge which is so essential to the correct formation of 
human character, and she taught her the mysteries of revealed 
religion. 

Joan was always of a very imaginative temperament ; and, 
when yet a mere child, she would often stray away from her 
companions into the forest shades, and there hold imaginary 
intercourse with celestial visitants. The ruling passion of her 
life was religion, and upon that topic all her thoughts, and con- 
versation, and actions hinged. 

Although circumscribed by poverty to a narrow and humble 
sphere, yet, as she approached toward womanhood, her rare 
personal charms and strongly-developed intellect won for her 
the admiration and esteem of all. She left her father's house, 
and engaged as a seamstress in the neighboring town of Neuf- 
chateau, where she pursued her new avocation with industry for 
five years. Her beauty attracted universal attention, and many 
advantageous proposals of marriage were made, but by her 
promptly refused. Her affections were too firmly set upon re- 
ligion to be disturbed by or divided with the things of earth, 
and she sought no other intercourse than the presence of angels 
and saints. Her monomania in that respect increased with her 
years ; and with asseverations of truth, she frequently declared 



JOANOFARC. 91 



that she had held audible conversation with the angels Michael 
and Grabriel, and saints Catherine, Margaret, &c. 

She declared the delight she experienced while sitting in the 
solitary forest and listening with rapt attention to the melodies 
of heaven, and seemed truly astonished at the fact that none 
but herself were permitted to enjoy those celestial concerts. 

At the age of sixteen another passion, equally strong with 
religion, claimed a share of her affections. 

This sentiment was patriotism — pure, unadulterated love of 
country, and a sincere desire for the promotion of her country's 
welfare. Peculiar circumstances conspired to render this pas- 
sion strong to its fullest extent, and opened a wide field for its 
perfect development. At this time, (1428,) England claimed 
the sovereignty of France, and by the power of the sword, and 
the right of might, held possession of a greater part of the 
kingdom. The Duke of Bedford, uncle to Henry YI., the 
reigning monarch of England, resided in Paris, and acted as 
regent for his nephew ; while Charles VII., the lawful emperor 
of France, by birth — possession of the throne — and the almost 
undivided love of the people, was a refugee in one of the frontier 
towns. English troops were garrisoned in all the cities and con- 
siderable towns, and a powerful army was daily extending its 
unlawful encroachments. Cruel retribution followed every re- 
sistance of the inhabitants, and fields and vineyards, towns and 
hamlets, were destroyed by the invading foe. 

These events made a strong impression upon the ardent im- 
agination of Joan, and she conceived the bold idea that she was 
commissioned by heaven to be an instrument in effecting the 
deliverance of her country. Conscious of what was the proper 
sphere of woman, she felt that her sex was degrading to her 
spirit, for it denied her the privilege of engaging in the martial 



92 JOANOFARC. 



pursuits necessary to the fulfilling of her mission. But her 
enthusiasm broke down every barrier, and she engaged in every 
manly exercise calculated to invigorate her frame and give her 
that knowledge she so much needed in the enterprise in which 
she was about to embark. She soon became an unrivaled 
equestrian, and managed her horse with all the skill of the 
bravest knight. These exercises gave an increased glow to her 
beauty, and she became an object almost of adoration. The 
superstition of the' times invested her with divine attributes, and 
the idea took possession of the minds of many of the lower class 
that she was the Virgin Mary, sent at this inauspicious moment 
to deliver France from a foreign yoke. 

On the 24th of February, 1429, Joan first entered the royal 
presence, and offered her services in restoring to the emperor 
his crown, and to her country its liberty. Charles was at this 
time at Chinon, a little distance from Orleans. The latter city 
had warmly espoused his cause, and at the time in question was 
strongly besieged by the English, led on by the traitor Duke of 
Burgundy, who had been one of the most powerful vassals of the 
French crown. 

The emperor had heard of the extraordinary young maiden 
now before him, but he had conceived her to be a tattered 
menial, urged on by fanaticism that had displaced weak judg- 
ment from a weak head, and at first refused her an audience. 
But, when assured that the applicant was no crazed mendicant, 
he gave her permission to enter. The emperor was filled with 
astonishment ; nay, some secret impulse awakened feelings of 
awful reverence in his bosom, when the maiden, armed cap-a-pie, 
stood upright before him, without paying even that obeisance 
expected from every subject. She uncovered her head, and 
her dark hair fell in profusion upon her mailed shoulders. The 



JOAN OF ARC. 93 



excitement of the moment gave increased animation to her 
countenance, and she seemed to the astonished monarch as a 
lovely angel, truly commissioned by Heaven for some mighty 
deed. Joan first broke silence. 

" I come," said she, '' not in the strength of steel, but mailed 
in the panoply of righteousness, to offer my services to my king 
and country. I ask not the royal signet as a proof of my com- 
mission ; my credentials are from Heaven — my chief sovereign, 
the Lord Grod Omnipotent. j| I have heard a voice of wail go up 
from hill and valley. I have seen the rich vineyard trampled 
down by mercenary warriors. I have beheld the frequent glare 
at midnight of consuming villages and hamlets, and yet, amid all 
this desolation, I have been obliged to sit and sigh over the 
weakness of my countrymen, and the uncurbed strength of the 
foe. The darkness has deepened over my beloved land, but 
light now streams upon it. The arm of a woman, in the hands 
of Grod to effect a mighty deliverance ; will an earthly sovei"eign 
refuse her permission to lead his armies ? At this moment the 
walls of Orleans are giving way to the battle-axes of the enemy, 
and Chinon will be next invested by English soldiers, and thus 
the last hope of France will depart. Heaven has issued its 
mandate ; be thine concurrent, and Joan d' Arc will on to the 
rescue !" 

Charles hesitated not a moment in granting the young enthu- 
siast the boon she asked, and preparations were immediately 
made to execute the enterprise. The monarch was a man of 
much sagacity, and he employed every means to invest the 
maiden, and everything appertaining to her, with a supernal 
character, for he knew that the prevailing superstitions of the 
time would, in such a connection, give increased vigor to the 
soldiery. Everything being in readiness, the maid mounted a 



94 JOANOFARC. 



white steed, and with a banner of the same hue, dashed forward 
at the head of brave and enthusiastic troops for Orleans. She 
charged upon the enemy with .terrible force, and despite the 
most desperate efforts of the foe, she succeeded in entering the 
beleagured city. Fresh courage animated soldiers and citizens, 
and on the eighth of May, the English, who had encompassed 
the city for more than six months, raised the siege, and retired 
in terror and confusion. This was but a beginning of her 
achievement. A few days after, she was victorious at the battle 
of Patay, where two thousand five hundred Englishmen were 
slain, and more than twelve hundred taken prisoners, among 
whom was the generalissimo, the brave Talbot. This, with the 
capture of Orleans, was a death-blow to English power in 
France ; and town after town now opened its gates to the French 
troops, led on by Joan d' Arc. Rheims at length surrendered, 
and on the 17th of July, scarcely five months after this extra- 
ordinary young woman first grasped the sword, in her country's 
cause, the dethroned monarch was solemnly consecrated and 
crowned in the cathedral of this last conquered city. 

Having executed the mission which she deemed Heaven to 
have given her, Joan laid aside the panoply of war, again assumed 
the costume of her sex, and, in the character of a meek and 
humble woman, presented herself before the emperor, and 
petitioned his leave for her to retire to the quiet and obscurity 
of her native village. But the monarch, truly grateful, entreated, 
and even commanded her to remain in public life. Honors were 
lavished upon her ; letters of nobility were granted to herself 
and family ; a medal was struck, in commemoration of her 
achievements, and the name of Joan d' Arc became familiar in 
every place and cottage in Europe. At the earnest solicitation 
of Charles, she again took command of his troops, and for more 



JOANOFARC. 95 



than a year her career was one of brilliant exploits, in contend- 
ing against the English, who yet lingered on the borders of 
France with the vain hope of regaining the territory they had 
lost. 

But how pure soever the spirit, however noble the soul, how- 
ever valorous and great, wise and good, an individual may be, 
the invidious monster, jealousy, will ever be creating a progeny 
of calumniators, or worse foes, to frustrate his designs and eclipse 
his well-earned glory. Such was the case of the Maid of Or- 
leans. When all was commotion — when victory after victory, 
in rapid succession, was working out the political redemption of 
France, all were ready, from monarch to vassal, to bow the knee 
of reverence to the instrument of good. But the tempest at 
length subsided, and French generals felt themselves disgraced 
in being led on to battle by a woman ; and even the French 
monarch forgot the services of a brave conqueror in restoring to 
him his crown, in the reflection that she was but a jpoor country 
girl ! 

On the 24th of May, 1430, while valorously defending Com- 
peigne from the attacks of the army of the Duke of Burgundy, 
the treacherous governor shut her out from the very city she 
was gallantly defending ; and after performing prodigies of valor, 
comparatively alone, she was overpowered by superior numbers, 
and compelled to surrender to the enemy. She fell into the 
hands of John of Luxemburg, and a short time afterward, she 
was actually sold by him to the Duke of Bedford, for ten thou- 
sand livres ! She was then taken to Rouen, and there arraigned 
before the ecclesiastical tribunal, charged with being a sorceress. 
From the time of her capture till the moment in question, the 
ungrateful monarch to whom she had given a crown and a king- 
dom, made not a single effort for her liberation, and the poor 



96 JOANOFARC. 



girl was left entirely to the mercy of a personal foe, and a foe 
to her common cotmtry. 

At that age, when even suspicion was sufficient to convict 
of heresy in religion, and with such powerful accusers as charged 
her with sorcery, Joan had but little mercy to expect from a 
tribunal of corrupt bigots. Every device was used to afford suf- 
ficient testimony to give the coloring of an excuse to their un- 
holy proceedings, and she was vexed with a thousand questions 
irrelevant to the subject, with the hope of eliciting some answer 
that might be construed into heresy. For nearly four months 
she was daily brought out of prison, where she was kept on 
bread and water, and obliged to pass the ordeal of severe ques- 
tioning — questioning, often the most absurd. On one occasion 
she was asked, whether at the coronation of Charles, she had not 
displayed a standard, consecrated by magical incantation } 
She replied, " My trust was in the Almighty, whose image was 
impressed upon the banner, and having encountered the dangers 
of the field, I was entitled to share the glory of Eheims. I 
serve," continued she, with uplifted hands, " I serve but one 
master — acknowledge but one sovereign, and he is our com- 
mon Father. Ye have threatened me with excommunication— 
ye have threatened me with stripes, and chained me in a dun- 
geon, and now ye threaten me with the fire and fagot. Ye 
may burn this tabernacle, but the soul that dwelleth in it, ye 
cannot harm ; and that Grod whose arm bears me up in this af- 
fliction, is also your Judge. My faith is in Christ the Lord, and 
your threatenings fall upon my ear and heart like idle words. 
Do with me as ye see fit — your reward will soon follow." 

During all of her examinations, she betrayed no weakness ; 
and when at length she was excommunicated and sentenced to 
be burned at the stake, her strength failed her not. On the 



JOANOFARC. 97 



12th of May, 1431, slie was taken from the prison under an 
escort of one hundred and twenty armed men. She was clad in 
female apparel, and upon her head was placed a paper crown, 
inscribed, '' Apostate, heretic, idolatress." She was supported 
by two Dominican friars, and as she passed through the 
thronged streets, she exclaimed, " Oh, Kouen ! Rouen ! must 
thou be my last abode !" She uttered blessings on the people 
as she passed, and supplicated Heaven to have mercy upon her 
accusers, judges, and executioners. Seated upon the scaffold 
was the English cardinal of Winchester, the Bishop of Terou- 
anne. Chancellor of France, Bishop of Beauvois, and the other 
judges. To these the heavily-fettered maiden was delivered ; 
and she ascended the scaffold with her face bathed in tears. 
Her funeral sermon was then preached ! — yes, in view of hea- 
ven, a professed ambassador of the meek and merciful Jesus — 
preached the funeral sermon of a living, weak, defenceless, inno- 
cent girl ! and she was then handed over to the secular officers 
to be put to death. Before she descended to mount the fatal 
pile, she knelt down and prayed Heaven to forgive all. Nor 
was the ungrateful Charles forgotten in her last moments, 
and she invoked the blessing of Heaven upon him and her 
country. 

As she arose from her knees, one of the judges said, " take 
her away !" and the executioner, trembling like an aspen, 
advanced, received her from the guards, and led her to the 
funeral pile. She asked for a crucifix, which being given her, 
she kissed it, and pressed it to her bosom. The fagots were 
lighted, and in a few moments she was surrounded with flames. 
An awful silence pervaded the multitude, and no voice was 
heard but that of the dying martyr, whose lips, until seared by 
flames, uttered the name of Jesus, mingled with the groans 



98 JOANOFARC. 



wMcli the violence of her anguish extorted from her. — By order 
of the Bishop of Winchester, her ashes were collected and 
thrown into the river. 

Thus died this extraordinary maiden at the age of nineteen 
years, to whom, Hume justly observed^ '' the more liberal and 
generous superstitions of the ancients would have erected 
altars." This last tragedy in the drama of her wonderful 
career, is an eternal stigma, not only on the two nations im- 
mediately concerned, but upon the age in which she lived ; and 
the actors in the scene, however much they may be robed in 
sacerdotal dignity and reverence, should receive the execrations 
of the good in all ages, as fit brethren for the Neros and Cali- 
gulas of ancient Rome. Twenty years afterward her mother 
demanded and obtained a reversal of her sentence, and by the 
Bishop of Paris her character was fully cleared from every im- 
putation of guilt of the crimes of which she was accused. At 
Orleans, Rouen, and various parts of France, monuments were 
erected to her honor ; and by a bull of Pope Calixtus III., she 
was declared a martyr to her religion, her country, and her 
king. 



t 



Is^beii^ of 6^§Hle. 




U%R,m{E.\L\L^ ©LF (SZ^^TrD[L[E 



Should we seek through the pages of history for a sovereign, 
such as the Supreme Spirit of Good might indeed own for his 
vice-regent here on earth, where should we find one more 
blameless and beautiful than that of Isabella ? Or, should we 
point out a reign, distinguished by great events — events of such 
magnitude as to involve in their consequences, not particular 
kings and nations, but the whole universe, and future ages to the 
end of time — where could we find a reign such as that of Isabella, 
who added a new world to her hereditary kingdom ? Or, did we 
wish to prove that no virtues, talents, graces, though dignifying 
and adorning a double crown and treble sceptre ; nor the pos- 
session of a throne fixed in the hearts of her people ; nor a long 
course of the most splendid prosperity, could exempt a great 
queen from the burthen of sorrow, which is the lot of her sex 
and of humanity ; where could we find an instance so forcible as 
in the history of Isabella ? 

This illustrious woman was the daughter of John the Second, 
King of Castile and Leon, and born in 1450, four years before 
the death of her father. King John, after a long, turbulent, 
and unhappy reign, died at Medina-del-Campo, leaving by his 
first wife, Maria of Arragon, a son, Don Henry, who succeeded 
him ; and by his second wife, Isabella of Portugal, two children 
in their infimcy, Alphonso and Isabella. 

Among the many princes who sought the hand of Isabella, 



102 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

Don Ferdinand, son of the King of Arragon, was preferred by 
the young princess, and tlieir marriage was accordingly per- 
formed at Valladolia, privately — the king, her brother, Henry 
the Fourth of Castile, who was a vicious prince, and whose acts 
of misgovernment had already led to a general revolt, at the 
head of which was the Archbishop of Toledo, and the chief 
nobility — being opposed to this alliance from motives of interest. 
At the period of her marriage, (in 1469), Isabella had just 
entered her twentieth year. In person she was well formed, 
of middle size, with great dignity and gracefulness of deport- 
ment, and a mingled gravity and sweetness of demeanor. Her 
complexion was fair ; her hair auburn, inclining to red ; her eyes 
were of a clear blue, with a benign expression, and there was 
a singular modesty in her countenance, gracing, as it did, a 
wonderful firmness of purpose and earnestness of spirit. She 
exceeded her husband in beauty, in personal dignity, in acute- 
ness of genius, and grandeur of soul. She combined a mascu- 
line energy of purpose with the utmost tenderness of heart, and 
a softness of temper and manner truly feminine. Her self- 
command was not allied to coldness, nor her prudence to dis- 
simulation, and her generous and magnanimous spirit disdained 
all indirect measures, and all the little crooked arts of policy. 
While all her public thoughts and acts were princely and august, 
her private habits were simple, frugal, and unostentatious. 
Without being learned, she was fond of literature ; and being 
possessed of a fine understanding, had cultivated many branches 
of knowledge with success. She encouraged and patronized the 
arts, and was the soul of every undertaking which tended to 
promote the improvement and happiness of her subjects. Her 
only fault — most pardonable in her sex, her situation, and the 
age in which she lived — was, that her piety tended to bigotry, 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 103 

and placed her too much at the disposal of her priestly advisers. 
This led her into some errors, sad to think of, and fraught with 
evil consequences to her people — they are a subject of regret — 
they cannot be a subject of reproach to this glorious creature, 
who, in an age of superstition and ignorance, was sometimes 
mistaken and misled, but never perverted. 

Ferdinand, when he received the hand of Isabella, was a few 
months younger than his bride. He was of the middle stature, 
well proportioned, and hardy, from athletic exercise ; his car- 
riage was free, erect, and majestic ; he had an ample forehead, 
and hair of a bright chestnut color ; his eyes were clear ; his 
complexion rather florid, but scorched to a manly brown by the 
toils of war ; his mouth was handsome and gracious in its ex- 
pression ; his voice sharp; his speech quick and fluent. His 
courage was cool and undaunted, not impetuous ; his temper 
close and unyielding, and his demeanor grave. His ambition 
was boundless, but it was also selfish, grasping, and unchecked 
by any scruple of principle, any impulse of generosity. He had 
great vigor of mind and great promptitude of action, but he 
never knew what it was to be impelled by a disinterested mo- 
tive ; and even his excessive bigotry, which afterwards obtained 
for him and his successors the title of " Most Catholic," was still 
made subservient to his selfish views and his insatiate thirst for 
dominion. Yet, however repulsive his character may appear to 
us who can contemplate at one glance the events of his long 
reign, and see his subtle, perfidious policy dissected and laid 
bare by the severe pen of history, he did not appear thus in the 
eyes of Isabella when they met at Valladolid. He was in the 
bloom of youth, handsome, brave, and accomplished ; the vices 
of his character were yet undeveloped, his best qualities alone 
apparent. Animated by the wish to please, and no doubt 



104 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

pleased himself to find in tlie woman whom ambition had made 
his bride, all the charms and excellencies that could engage his 
attachment, we cannot wonder that Ferdinand at this time ob- 
tained and long fixed the tenderness and respect of his wife, 
whose disposition was in the highest degree confiding and afiec- 
tionate. 

The furious civil war that had raged for two or three years 
between King Henry and his young brother Alphonso, and his 
partisans, previous to the marriage of Isabella, had been ter- 
minated by the death of the prince at the age of fifteen, and 
the nobles opposed to Henry then resolved to place Isabella at 
their head. Isabella rejected the o£fered crown, and Henry, 
willing to purchase at any price, however humiliating, for a few 
years longer, the empty title of King, concluded a treaty with 
the chiefs, whereby he acknowledged his reputed daughter, 
Joanna, illegitimate, setting aside her claims entirely, and de- 
clared Isabella his heiress and successor. 

When Henry found that this marriage had been solemnized 
without his knowledge or consent, he was struck with rage and 
terror ; he revoked the treaty he had made in Isabella's favor, 
declared his daughter Joanna his only legal heir, and civil war 
again distracted and desolated the kingdom for more than three 
years. The death of Henry in 1474, finally opened a sure road 
to peace ; and Ferdinand and Isabella were immediately, and 
almost without opposition, proclaimed King and Queen of Castile. 

The Archbishop of Toledo, who had been so instrumental in 
placing Isabella on the throne, and the chief negotiator of her 
marriage, believed himself now at the summit of power, and 
expected everything, from the gratitude and weakness of the 
young queen, but was surprised to find that Isabella was not of a 
character to leave the government in the hands of another. Dis- 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 105 

appointed in his ambitious views, the Archbishop quitted the 
court in a fit of jealousy and disgust, and threw himself into the 
party of Joanna, whose pretensions were supported by the young 
Marquis of Grillena, and other nobles. Alphonso, King of Por- 
tugal, also espoused the cause of Joanna, and invaded Castile 
with a powerful army, and Joanna was proclaimed Queen at 
Placentia. The Portuguese were, however, defeated at Toro, by 
Ferdinand, and Alphonso was obliged to retire to his own king- 
dom. The disafiected nobles submitted one after another to 
the power of Isabella, and Castile breathed at last from the 
horrors of civil war. 

The poor Princess Joanna at last sought refuge in a convent, 
where she took the veil at the age of twenty, and died a nun. 

Thus Isabella remained without a competitor, and was ac- 
knowledged as Queen of Castile and Leon ; and three years 
after the battle of Toro, the death of his father raised Ferdinand 
to the throne of Arragon. The kingdoms of Castile and Arra- 
gon were thenceforward united indissolubly, though still inde- 
pendent of each other. There arose at first some contest 
relative to the order of precedence. Castile and Leon had 
hitherto been allowed the precedence over Arragon in all politi- 
cal transactions ; but Ferdinand now insisted that, as king and 
husband, his titles should precede those of his wife. 

It was a very delicate point of conjugal and state etiquette, 
and Isabella was placed in a difficult situation ; she conducted 
herself, however, with that mixture of gentleness, prudence, and 
magnanimity, which distinguished her character. She acknow- 
ledged, as a wife, the supremacy of Ferdinand, as her husband ; 
in public and private she yielded to him all the obedience, honor, 
and duty he could require, naming him on every occasion her 
lord, her master, her sovereign ; but she would not concede one 



106 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

iota of the dignity of her kingdom. She maintained that the 
Queen of Castile should never yield the precedence to the King 
of Arragon, and in the end she overruled all opposition. It was 
decided that in all public acts promulgated in their joint names, 
the titles of Castile and Leon should precede those of Arragon 
and Sicily. Isabella managed this delicate affair with a firmness 
which endeared her to her Castilian nobles, who were haughtily 
jealous of the honor of their country 5 yet she upheld her rights 
with so much sweetness and feminine address as to gain rather 
than lose in the affections of her husband ; while her influence 
in his councils, and the respect of his ministers, were evidently 
increased by the resolution she had shown in maintaining what 
was considered a point of national honor. 

In the same year that the kingdoms of Castile and Arragon 
were united, Queen Isabella was at Toledo, and gave birth to 
her second daughter, the Infanta Joanna, afterwards the mother 
of Charles the Fifth. 

The first great event of the reign of the two sovereigns was 
the war of Granada. Hostility against the Moors seems to have 
been the hereditary appanage of the Crown of Castile ; and it 
was one of the principal articles in Isabella's marriage-treaty, 
that Ferdinand should lead the armies of the queen against the 
infidels as soon as the affairs of the kingdom allowed him to do 
so. Isabella has always been represented as a principal adviser 
and instigator of this sanguinary war, and, during its continuance, 
the animating soul of all the daring enterprises and^ deeds of 
arms achieved by others ; and though the Spanish historians 
have added this to the rest of her merits, yet, disguise it as we 
will, there is something revolting to female nature in the idea 
of a woman thus interested and engaged in carrying on a war, 
not defensive, but offensive, and almost exterminating. We 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 107 

ought, therefore, in justice to Isabella, to look into the motives 
by which she was impelled — to consider the situation of the two 
countries at the time, the opinions and spirit of the age, and the 
deep-seated religious prejudices on both sides, which gave a tinc- 
ture of fierce zeal to this great and terrible contest. It was 
bigotry on one side opposed to fanaticism on the other. The 
Spaniards fought for honor, dominion, and the interests of the 
church. The Moors fought for their homes and hearths, their 
faith, their country, their very existence as a nation. 

Isabella, in undertaking this war, which had been in a measure 
transmitted to her with her crown, was certainly swayed by mo- 
tives of which we can hardly estimate the full force, unless we 
transport ourselves in fancy back to the very times in which she 
lived. For seven hundred years the existence of a Moorish king- 
dom in the south of Spain had been like a thorn in the side of 
Christendom. Isabella deemed it a reproach that her frontiers 
should be endangered — her power defied, by a people occupy- 
ing a slip of land between her kingdom and the sea ; and a 
sense of religion, sincere though pitiably mistaken, made her 
regard the conversion of the Moors as a necessary consequence 
of their subjection, and a war against them, even to extremity, 
as good and acceptable service to Heaven. On the other hand, 
the policy of Ferdinand in conducting this war, though cloaked 
under an appearance of religious zeal, was far more deep and 
selfish. With him it was not only the desire of extending his 
dominions and increasing his revenues, but, in accordance with 
a deep-laid plan, to aggrandize the crown at the expense of the 
power of the nobility and the liberties of the people — a plan 
which he pursued through his whole reign with the most pro- 
found sagacity and the most unwearied perseverance. And he 
well knew tliat a popular war, which should place an immense 



108 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

army at his disposal, and exliaust the resources and the ardent 
spirit of the nobles in the general service, would be an effectual 
step to the object he had in view. 

The kingdom of Grranada extended along the south of Spain 
for about one hundred and eighty miles, and between the moun- 
tains and the sea its breadth was about seventy miles ; yet this 
narrow space was filled with populous cities, enriched by agri- 
culture and commerce, defended by strong fortresses, and in- 
habited by a wealthy, warlike, industrious, and polished race 
of people. Nearly in the centre of the kingdom stood the 
royal city of Granada, on two lofty hills, the one crowned by the 
glorious palace of the Alhambra, within whose splendid courts 
forty thousand persons might have been lodged and entertained ; 
the other by the citadel of Alcazaba. The sides of these hills 
and the valley between them were occupied by houses and 
palaces to the number of seventy thousand, and Grranada alone 
could send forth from her gates twenty thousand fighting men. 
Around this noble city stretched the Vega or Plain of Grranada, 
which resembled one vast and beautiful garden in the highest 
state of cultivation ; there flourished the citron and the orange, 
the pomegranate and the fig-tree — there the olive poured forth 
its oil, and the vine its purple juice. On one side, a range of 
snowy mountains seemed to fence it from its hostile neighbors ; 
on the other, the blue Mediterranean washed its shores, and 
poured into its harbors the treasures of Africa and the Levant. 
Nor were the inhabitants of this terrestrial Eden unmindful or 
unworthy of its glorious loveliness. They believed themselves 
peculiarly favored by Heaven in being placed in a spot of earth 
so enchanting, that they fancied the celestial Paradise must be 
suspended immediately over it, and could alone exceed it in de- 
lights. Their .patriotism had in it something romantic and 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 109 

tender, like tbe passion of a lover for his mistress. — They clung 
to their beautiful country with a yearning affection ; they poured 
their blood like water in its defence ; they celebrated its charms, 
and lamented its desolation in those sweet and mournful ballads 
which are still extant, and Yfhich can yet draw tears from their 
Christian conquerors. 

Long before the last invasion of Ferdinand and Isabella the 
Moorish power had been on the decline. They had once pos- 
sessed nearly the whole of the peninsula, from the Strait of 
Gibraltar to the Pyrenees, but had, by degrees, been driven 
southward by the Christian powers, until they were circum- 
scribed within the boundaries of Granada. Even this they had 
held for some time as tributary to their enemies, paying annu- 
ally two thousand pistoles of gold and sixteen hundred Christian 
captives or Moorish slaves to the sovereigns of Castile. 

During the weak government of Henry the Fourth, and the 
civil wars which had distracted the kingdoms of Castile and 
Arragon, this tribute had fallen into disuse ; it had not been 
paid for several years. And while the Christian monarchs were 
weakened by internal and mutual warfare, the Moors had been 
increasing in wealth and power, and had even extended their 
dominions by the addition of several tracts and towns lying on 
their frontiers. Their king, Muley Aben Hassan, was a tyrant 
in his family, and, at this time, distracted by domestic feuds ; 
but he was a man of strong mind, with talents both for war and 
government. He had been distinguished in his youth for per- 
sonal valor, and still retained in old age the fiery spirit and 
haughty bearing of his earlier years. Such, in a few words, was 
the state of the two nations when the war began. 

The first step taken by Ferdinand and Isabella was, to send a 
solemn embassy to the Moorish king, requiring the payment of 



110 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

the long arrears of tribute due to tlie monarclis of Castile. 
Aben Hassan received tlie ambassador in the state-chamber of 
the Alhambra, and to the haughty requisition he replied as 
haughtily, '' Tell your sovereigns that the kings of Grranada 
who were used to pay tribute in money to the Castilian crown 
are dead. Our mint at present coins nothing but blades of 
cimeters and heads of lances." The ambassador, Don Juan de 
Vera, probably longed to hurl back this proud defiance in the 
teeth of the infidels ; but it was then no time to answer it in the 
same spirit. The contest with Portugal was still pending ; the 
claims of Isabella to her throne still undecided. It was not till 
1481 that Ferdinand and Isabella, having signed a treaty with 
the King of Portugal, were enabled to turn their whole attention 
to the long-meditated, long-deferred war with Granada. 

The Moorish king, aware of their intentions, and of the vast 
preparations making against him, was resolved to strike the first 
blow. He attacked Zahara, a celebrated fortress, perched on 
the summit of a mountain, and deemed so impregnable from its 
situation, as well as the strength of its defences, that a woman 
of severe and inaccessible chastity was proverbially called a 
Zaharena. In the dead of the night, Zahara was surprised by 
the MoorSj the garrison massacred, and the rest of the inhabit- 
ants driven into captivity and sold as slaves. Although this in- 
road had only anticipated the intentions of Ferdinand and 
Isabella, and had given them a fair pretext for carrying the war 
into Grranada, they affected the strongest indignation, and at 
their command all the chivalry of Castile flew to arms. 

Among the nobles who first lifted their banners in this war, 
and afterward became celebrated for their exploits, four were 
especially distinguished : — Don Rodrigo Ponce de Leon, Marquis 
of Cadiz ; Don Alonzo de Aguilar, (the elder brother of Gon- 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. Ill 

salvo de Cordova) ; the Count de Cabra ; and the Duke of 
Medina Sidonia. All these were in fact feudal sovereigns. 
They were often engaged in petty wars with each other ; and 
there was not one of them who could not bring a small army of 
his own retainers into the field. The Marquis of Cadiz had im- 
mense possessions in Andalusia, including even populous cities 
and strong fortresses. His near neighborhood to the Moors, and 
frequent and mutual inroads, had kept up a constant feeling of 
hostility and hatred between them. This nobleman was the first 
to avenge the capture of Zahara ; and his measures were taken 
with equal celerity and secrecy. He assembled his friends and 
followers, made a descent on the territories of the enemy, and 
took by storm the strong town of Alhama, situated within a few 
leagues of the Moorish capital. 

When the news of the capture of Alhama was brought to 
Granada, it filled the whole city with consternation. The old 
men tore their garments, and scattered ashes on their heads ; 
the women rent their hair and ran about weeping and wailing — 
with their children in their arms, they forced their way into the 
presence of the king, denouncing woe on his head, for having 
tl: IS brought down the horrors of war on their happy and 
beautiful country. '' Accursed be the day," they exclaimed, 
'' when the flame of war was kindled by thee in our land ! May 
the holy Prophet bear witness before Allah, that we and our 
children are innocent of this act ! Upon thy head, and upon 
the heads of thy posterity to the end of the world, rest the sin 
of the destruction of Zahara !"^ 

* The lament of the Moors on the loss of Alhama is perpetuated in the little 
Spanish ballad so happily and so faithfully translated by Lord Byron — 

" The Moorish king rides up and down 
Through Granada's royal town," &c. 



112 ISABELLAOFCASTILE. 

Aben Hassan, unmoved by these feminine lamentations, as- 
sembled his army in all haste, and flew to the relief of Albania ; 
he invested it with three thousand horse and fifty thousand foot, 
and Albania would assuredly have been retaken by this over- 
whelming force, bufc for the courage and magnanimity of a 
woman. 

When news was brought to the Marchioness of Cadiz that her 
valiant husband was thus hard beset within the fortress of Al- 
bania — so that he must needs yield or perish, unless succor 
should be afforded him, and that speedily — she sent immedi- 
ately to the Duke of Medina Sidonia, the most powerful of the 
neighboring chiefs, requiring of him, as a Christian knight and 
a gentleman, to fly to the assistance of the marquis. Now, be- 
tween the family of the Duke and that of the Marquis of Cadiz, 
there was an hereditary feud, which had lasted more than a 
century, and they were moreover personal enemies ; yet, in 
that fine spirit of courtesy and generosity which mingled with 
the ferocity and ignorance of those times, the aid demanded with 
such magnanimous confidence by the high-hearted wife of De 
Leon, was as nobly and as frankly granted by the Duke of 
Medina Sidonia. Without a moment's hesitation he called to- 
gether his followers and his friends, and such was his power and 
resources, that five thousand horse and fifty thousand foot as- 
sembled round his banner at Seville. With this numerous and 
splendid army he hastened to the relief of Alhama ere it should 
be overwhelmed by the enemy. In fact, the small but gallant 
band which still held its walls against the fierce attacks of the 
Moor, were now reduced to the last extremity, and must in a few 
days have capitulated. 

Ferdinand and Isabella were at Medina del Campo when 
tidings successively arrived of the capture of Alhama, of the 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 113 i 

terrible situation of the Marquis of Cadiz, and the generous 
expedition of Medina Sidonia. The king, when he heard of 
this vast armament, and the glory to be acquired by the relief 
of Alhama, sent forward couriers to the duke with orders to 
await his coming, that he might himself take the command of 
the forces ; and then, with a few attendants, he spurred towards 
the scene of action, leaving the queen to follow. 

But the Duke of Medina Sidonia was not inclined to share 
with another — not even with his sovereign — the glory of an ex- 
pedition undertaken from such motives, and at his own care and 
cost : moreover, every hour of delay was of the utmost conse- 
quence, and threatened the safety of the besieged ; instead, 
therefore, of attending to the commands of the king, or await- 
ing his arrival, the army of Medina Sidonia pressed forward to 
Alhama. On the approach of the Puke, Aben Hassan, who 
had already lost a vast number of his troops through the gallant 
defence of the besieged, saw that all farther eiForts were in vain. 
Gnashing his teeth, and tearing up his beard by the roots, with 
choler and disappointment, he retired to his city of Granada. 
Meantime the Marquis of Cadiz and his brave and generous 
deliverer met and embraced before the walls of Alhama ; the 
Duke of Medina Sidonia refused for him.self and his followers 
any share in the rich spoils of the city ; and from that time 
forth, these noble cavaliers, laying aside their hereditary ani- 
mosity, became firm and faithful friends. 

These were the feats which distinguished the opening of the 
war ; they have been extracted at some length, as illustrating 
the spirit and manners of the age, and the character of this 
memorable contcpt. The other events of the war, except as far 
as Isabella v/as personally concerned, must be passed over more 
rapidly. She had fr-Howed the kinpi; from IMcdina del Campo, 



114 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

and arrived at Cordova just as tlie council was deliberating what 
was to be done with the fortress of Alhama. Many were of 
opinion that it was better to demolish it at once than to main- 
tain it with so much danger and cost in the midst of the enemy's 
territory. ^' What !" exclaimed Isabella, indignant that so 
much blood and valor should have been expended in vain ; 
'^ what, then, shall we destroy the first fruits of our victories ? 
shall we abandon the first place we have wrested from the 
Moors ? Never let us sufi'er such an idea to occupy our minds. 
It would give new courage to the enemy, arguing fear or feeble- 
ness in our councils. You talk of the toil and expense of main- 
taining Alhama ; did we doubt, on undertaking this war, that it 
was to be a war of infinite cost, labor, and bloodshed ? and shall 
we shrink from the cost, the moment a victory is obtained, and 
the question is merely to guard or abandon its glorious trophy ? 
Let us hear no more of the destruction of Alhama ; let us main- 
tain its walls sacred, as a strong-hold granted us by Heaven in 
the centre of this hostile land, and let our Only consideration 
be, how to extend our con(][uest, and capture the surrounding 
cities.*"^ This spirited advice was applauded by all. The city 
of Alhama was strongly garrisoned, and maintained thence- 
forward, in despite of the Moors. 

From this time we find Isabella present at every succeeding 
campaign, animating her husband and his generals by her courage 
and undaunted perseverance ; providing for the support of the 
armies by her forethought and economy ; comforting them under 
their reverses by her sweet and gracious speeches, and pious 
confidence in Heaven ; and by her active humanity and her 
benevolent sympathy, extended to friend and foe, softening, as 
far as possible, the horrors and miseries of war. Isabella was 

=^ Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada, vol i., p. 81. 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 115 

the first who instituted regular military surgeons to attend the 
movements of the army, and be at hand on the field of battle. 
These surgeons were paid out of her own revenues ; and she 
also provided six spacious tents, furnished with beds and all 
things requisite, for the sick and wounded, which were called the 
'^ Queen's Hospital." 

Thus, to the compassionate heart of a woman, directed by 
energy and judgment, the civilized world was first indebted for 
an expedient which has since saved so many lives, and done so 
much towards alleviating the most frightful evils of war. 

It were long to tell of all the battles and encounters, the 
skirmishes and the forays, the fierce mutual inroads for massacre 
or plunder, which took place before the crescent was finally 
plucked down, and the cross reared in its stead ; or, to describe 
the valorous sieges and obstinate defences of the fortresses of 
Eonda, Zalea, Moclin, and Baza ; nor how often the banks of 
the Xenil were stained with blood, while down its silver current 

'f Chiefs confused in mutual slaughter, 
Moor and Christian, roll'd along !" 

The Castilian sovereigns, great as were their power and re- 
sources, had to endure some signal reverses ; the most memora- 
ble of which was the disgraceful repulse of Ferdinand before the 
walls of Loxa, in 1482, and the terrible defeat of the Christians 
in the passes of the mountains of Malaga, which occurred in 
1483. On that disastrous day, which is still remembered in the 
songs of Andalusia, three of the most celebrated commanders of 
Castile, with the pride of her chivalry, were encountered by a 
determined band of Moorish peasantry. All the brothers of the 
Marquis of Cadiz perished at his side ; the Master of Santiago 
fled ; the royal standard-bearer was taken prisoner ; and the 



116 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

Marquis of Cadiz, and his friend Don Alonzo de Aguilar, escaped 
with difficulty, and wounded almost to death. In truth, the 
Moors made a glorious stand for their national honor and inde- 
pendence ; and, had it not been for their own internal divisions 
and distracted councils, which gave them over a prey to their 
conquerors, their subjection, which cost such a lavish expendi- 
ture of blood, and toil, and treasure, had been more dearly pur- 
chased — perhaps the issue had been altogether different. 

The feuds between the Zegris and the Abencerrages, and the 
domestic cruelties of Aben Hassan, had rendered Granada a 
scene of tumult and horror, and stained the halls of the Al- 
hambra with blood. Boabdil, the eldest son of Aben Hassan, 
(called by the Spanish historians, " el Key Chiquito," or " el 
Chico," the little King), had rebelled against his father, or 
rather had been forced into rebellion by the tyranny of the 
latter. The old monarch was driven from the city of Granada, 
and took up his residence at Malaga, while Boabdil reigned in 
the Alhambra. The character of Boabdil wa^ the reverse of 
that of his ferocious sire ; he was personally brave, generous, 
magnificent, and humane ; but indolent, vacillating in temper, 
and strongly and fatally influenced by an old tradition or pro- 
phecy, which foretold that he would be the last king of his race, 
and that he was destined to witness the destruction of the 
Moorish power in Spain. Boused, however, by the remonstrances 
of his heroic mother, the Sultana Ayxa, Boabdil resolved to 
signalize his reign by some daring exploit against the Christians. 
He assembled a gallant army, and led them to invade the Cas- 
tilian territory. In the plains of Lucena he was met by the 
Count de Cabra, who, after a long-contested and sanguinary 
battle, defeated and dispersed his troops. Boabdil himself, 
distinguished above the rest, not less by his daring valor than by 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 117 

his golden armor and his turban that blazed with jewels, was 
taken prisoner, and carried by the Count de Cabra to his castle 
of Yaena. 

The mother of Boabdil, the Sultana Ajxa, and his young and 
beautiful wife Morayma, had daily watched from the loftiest 
tower of the Alhambra to see his banners returning in triumph 
through the gate of Elvira ; a few cavaliers, fugitives from the 
battle of Lucena, and covered with dust and blood, came spur- 
ring across the Yega, with the news of his defeat and capture — 
and who can speak the sorrow of the wife and the mother ? 
Isabella herself, when the tidings of this great victory were 
brought to her, wept in the midst of her exultation for the 
fate of the Moorish prince. She sent him a message full of 
courtesy and kindness ; and when the council met to consider 
whether it would be advisable to deliver Boabdil into the hands 
of his cruel father, who had offered large terms to get him into 
his power, Isabella rejected such barbarous policy with horror. 
By her advice and influence, Boabdil was liberated and restored 
to his kingdom, on conditions which, considering all the circum- 
stances, might be accounted favorable : it was stipulated that he 
should acknowledge himself the vassal of the Castilian crown ; 
pay an annual tribute, and release from slavery four hundred 
Christian captives, who had long languished in chains ; and that 
he should leave his only son and the sons of several nobles of his 
family as hostages for his faith. Having subscribed to these 
conditions, Boabdil was received by Ferdinand and Isabella at 
Cordova, embraced as a friend, and restored to his kingdom, 
with gifts and princely honors. 

In liberating Boabdil, the politic Ferdinand was impelled by 
motives far different from those which actuated his generous 
queen. He wisely calculated that the release of the Moorish 



118 ISABELLA OF CASTILE 

prince would prove far more advantageous than his detention, 
by prolonging the civil discords of the kingdom of Granada, and 
dividing its forces. The event showed he had not been mis- 
taken. No sooner was Boabdil restored to freedom than the 
wrath of the fiery old king, Aben Hassan, again turned upon 
his son, and the most furious contests raged between the two 
parties. 

This was the miserable and distracted state of Granada, while 
King Ferdinand continued to push his conquests, taking first 
one city or castle, then another — ravaging the luxuriant Vega, 
and carrying away the inhabitants into captivity ; while Boabdil, 
bound by the treaty into which he had entered, wept to behold 
his beautiful country desolated with fire and sword, and dared 
not raise his arm to defend it. In the midst of these troubles, 
old Aben Hassan, becoming blind and infirm, was deposed by 
his brother Abdalla el Zagal, who proclaimed himself king ; 
and, denouncing his nephew Boabdil as an ally of the Christians 
and a traitor to his faith and country, he prepared to carry on 
the war with vigor. The military skill of El Zagal was equal 
to his ferocity ; and the Christians found in him a determined 
and formidable opponent. 

The fortress of Bonda, in the Serrania, which had long been 
considered impregnable from its strength and situation, was 
taken from the Moors in 1485, after a long and fierce resistance. 
The isolated rock on which this strong-hold was perched, like the 
aery of the vulture, was hollowed into dungeons deep and dark, 
in which were a vast number of Christian captives, who had been 
taken in the Moorish forays. It is recorded that among them 
were several young men of high rank, who had surrendered 
themselves slaves in lieu of their parents, not being able to pay 
the ransom demanded ; and many had pined for years in these 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 119 

receptacles of misery. Being released from their fetters, they 
were all collected together,. and sent to the queen at Cordova. 
When Isabella beheld them she melted into tears. She ordered 
them to be provided with clothes and money, and all other 
necessaries, and conveyed to their respective homes ; while the 
chains they had worn were solemnly suspended in the church of 
St. John, at Toledo, in sign of thanksgiving to Heaven. This 
was the spuit in which Isabella triumphed in success — an 
instance of the gentle and magnanimous temper with which she 
could sustain a reverse which occurred soon afterward. 

A short time after the siege of Konda, Isabella took up 
her residence at Yaena, a strong castle on the frontiers of 
Andalusia, belonging to the renowned and valiant Count de 
Cabra, the same who had won the battle of Lucena and taken 
Boabdil prisoner. The influence which Isabella exercised over 
her warlike nobles was not merely that of a queen, but that of 
a beautiful and virtuous woman, whose praise was honor, and 
whose smiles were cheaply purchased by their blood. The 
Count de Cabra, while he entertained his royal and adored mis- 
tress within his castle walls, burned to distinguish himself by 
some doughty deed of arms, which should win him grace and 
favor in her eyes. The Moor El Zagal was encamped near 
Moclin ; to capture another king, to bring him in chains to the 
feet of his mistress — what a glorious exploit for a Christian 
knight and a devoted cavalier ! The ardent count beheld only 
the hoped success — he overlooked the dangers of the under- 
taking. With a handful of followers, he attacked the fierce El 
Zagal — was defeated — and himself and his retainers driven back 
upon Vaena, with '' rout and confusion following at their heels." 

Isabella waited the issue of this expedition within the walls of 
the castle. She was seated in the balcony of a lofty tower, over- 



120 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

looking the vale beneath, and at her side were her daughter 
Isabella and her infant son Don Juan. Her chief minister and 
counsellor, the venerable Cardinal Mendoza, stood near her. 
They looked along the mountain-road which led towards Moclin, 
and beheld couriers spurring their steeds through the defiles with 
furious haste, and galloping into the town ; and in the same mo- 
ment the shrieks and waiiings which rose from below informed 
Isabella of the nature of their tidings ere they were summoned 
to her presence. For a moment her tenderness of heart pre- 
vailed over her courage and fortitude ; the loss of so many 
devoted friends, the defeat of one of her bravest knights, the 
advantage and triumph gained by the enemy almost in her 
presence, and the heart-rending lamentations of those who had 
lost sons, brothers, lovers, husbands, in this disastrous battle, 
almoot overwhelmed her. But when some of the couriers pre- 
sent endeavored to comfort her by laying the blame on the rash- 
ness of De Cabra, and would have lessened him in her opinion, 
she was roused to generous indignation : — ^' The enterprise," she 
said, '' was rash, but not more rash than that of Lucena, which 
had been crowned with success, and which all had applauded as 
the height of heroism. Had the Count de Cabra succeeded in 
capturing the uncle, as he did the nephew, who would not have 
praised him to the skies .^" 

The successful enterprise of the Christians, against Zalea con- 
cluded the eventful campaign of 1485. Isabella retired from 
the seat of war to Alcada de Henares, where, in the month of 
December, she gave birth to her third daughter, the Infanta 
Catherine of Arragon, afterward the wife of Henry the Eighth 
of England. 

The next year, 1486, was one of the most memorable during 
the war. Early in the spring, Isabella and her husband repaired 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 121 

to Cordova, and a gallant and splendid array of the feudal chief- 
tains of Castile assembled round them. That ancient city, with 
all the fair valley along the banks of the Gruadalquiver, resounded 
with warlike preparation; the waving of banners, the glancing 
of spears, the flashing of armor, the braying of trumpets, the 
neighing of steeds, the gorgeous accoutrements of the knights 
and their retainers, must have formed a moving scene of sur- 
passing interest and magnificence. There was the brave Mar- 
quis of Cadiz, justly styled the mirror of Andalusian chivalry. 
When the women who were obliged to attend Queen Isabella to 
the wars, and who possessed not her noble contempt of danger, 
beheld the Marquis of Cadiz, they rejoiced, and felt secure under 
the protection of one so renowned for his courtesy to their sex, 
and of whom it was said, that no injured woman had ever ap- 
plied to him in vain for redress. There was the valiant Count 
de Cabra, who had captured Boabdil, and the famous Don 
Alonzo de Aguilar, renowned for his deeds of arms in history 
and in song ; and there was his brother Gronsalvo de Cordova, 
then captain of Isabella's guards. There was the young Duke 
of Infantado, with his five hundred followers, all glittering in 
silken vests and scarfs, and armor inlaid with silver and gold ; 
and the Duke of Medina Sidonia, and the Duke of Medina Celi, 
names at once so harmonious in their sound, and so chivalrous in 
their associations, that they dwell upon the ear like the pro- 
longed note of a silver clarion.. Besides these, were many 
worthy cavaliers of England, France, and Grermany, who were 
induced partly by the fame of this holy expedition, (such it 
was then deemed), partly by the wish to distinguish themselves 
in the sight of a beautiful and gracious queen, to join the ban- 
ners of Isabella and Ferdinand, at Cordova. The most conspic- 
uous of these foreign auxiliaries was Lord llivers of Euglaud, a 



122 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

near relation of Elizabeth of York, and the son of that accom- 
plished Lord Rivers who was beheaded at Pomfret. After the 
battle of Bosworth-field, he joined the camp of the Catholie 
sovereigns with three hundred retainers, and astonished the 
Spaniards by the magnificence of his appointments, his courtesy, 
his valor, and the ponderous strength and determined courage 
of his men. There was also the accomplished French knight 
Gaston de Leon of Toulouse, with a band of followers, all gallant 
and gay, '' all plumed like ostriches that wing the wind," and 
ready alike for the dance or the melee — for lady's bower or bat- 
tle field — and many more. 

The presence of Isabella and her court lent to this martial 
pomp an added grace, dignity, and interest. She was sur- 
rounded by many ladies of noble birth and distinguished beauty, 
the wives, or mothers, or sisters of the brave men who were 
engaged in the war. The most remarkable were, the Infanta 
Isabella, at this time about fourteen, and who, as she grew in 
years, became the inseparable companion and bosom friend of 
her mother ; the high-minded Marchioness of Cadiz, and the 
Marchioness of Moya, both honored by the queen's intimacy, and 
the latter eminent for her talents as well as her virtues. A 
number of ecclesiastics of high rank and influence also attended 
on Isabella. The grand cardinal, Gronzalez de Mendoza, was 
always at her side, and was at this time and during his life her 
chief minister and adviser. He is described as " a man of a 
clear understanding, eloquent, judicious, and of great quickness 
and capacity in business, simple yet nice in his apparel, lofty 
and venerable in his deportment." He was an elegant scholar, 
but of course imbued with all the prejudices of his age and 
calling ; and notwithstanding his clerical profession, he had a 
noble band of warriors in his pay. There were also the pope's 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 123 

nuncio, the Prior of Prado, the warlike Bishop of Jaen, and 
many others. 

Amid this assemblage of haughty nobles and fierce soldiers, 
men who knew no arts but those of war, and courted no glory 
which was not sown and reaped in blood — amid all these high- 
born dames and proud and stately prelates — moved one in lowly 
garb and peaceful guise, overlooked, unheeded, when not re- 
pulsed with scorn by the great, or abandoned to the derision of 
the vulgar, yet bearing on his serene brow the stamp of great- 
ness — one before whose enduring and universal fame the tran- 
sient glory of these fighting warriors faded away, like tapers in 
the blaze of a noontide sun, and compared with whose sublime 
achievements their loftiest deeds were mere infant play. This 
was the man — 

''By Heaven design'd 
To lift the veil that cover'd half mankind" — 

Columbus ! — he first appeared as a suiter in the court of Castile 
in the spring of^the year 1486. In the midst of the hurry and 
tumult of martial preparation, and all the vicissitudes and press- 
ing exigencies of a tremendous and expensive war, we can hardly 
wonder if his magnificent but (as they then appeared) extrava- 
gant speculations should at first meet with little attention or 
encouragement. During the spring and autumn of this year he 
remained at Cordova, but though warmly patronized by the Car- 
dinal Mcndozo, he could not obtain an audience of the sove- 
reigns. 

Nor was Isabella to blame in this. It appears that while 
Ferdinand proceeded to lay siege to Loxa, the queen was wholly 
engrossed by the care of supplying the armies, the administration 
of the revenues, and all the multiplied anxieties of foreign and 



124 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

domestic government, which, in the absence of Ferdinand, de- 
volved solely upon her. She gave her attention unremittingly 
to these complicated affairs, sparing neither time nor fatigue, 
and conducted all things with consummate judgment, as well as 
the most astonishing order and activity. It is not surprising 
that, under such circumstances, Columbus, then an obscure indi- 
vidual, should have found it difficult to obtain an audience, or 
that his splendid views, as yet unrealized, should have appeared, 
amid the immediate cares and interests and dangers pressing 
around her, somewhat remote and visionary, and fail to seize on 
her instant attention. 

In the meantime the war proceeded. Loxa was taken after 
an obstinate defence, and a terrible slaughter of the miserable 
inhabitants. Boabdil, '' the Unlucky," was retaken at Loxa, 
but released again, on renewing his oath of vassalage, to foment 
the troubles of his wretched country.^ 

Aft# the capture of Loxa, Ferdinand wrote to Isabella, re- 
questing her presence in his camp, that he might consult with 
her on the treatment of Boabdil, and the administration of their 
new dominions. 

In ready obedience to her husband's wish, Isabella took her 
departure from the city of Cordova on the 12th of June. She 
was accompanied by her favorite daughter, the Princess Isabella, 
and a numerous train of noble ladies and valiant cavaliers, with 

" In one of the suburbs of Loxa, a poor weaver was at his work during the 
hottest of the assault. His wife urged him to fly. " VThy should I fly ?" said the 
Moor 5 " to be rescued for hunger and slavery ? I tell you, wife, I will abide here ; 
for better is it to die quickly by the steel than to perish piecemeal in chains and 
dungeons." Having said this, he coolly resumed his work, and was slain at his 
loom by the furious assailants. — Vide Conquest of Granada. This reminds us of 
Archimedes, only that the Moorish weaver was the greater philosopher of the two, 
and did not stick to his loom through mere absence of mind. 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 125 

courtiers, statesmen, and prelates of rank. On the frontiers of 
G-ranada she was met by the Marquis of Cadiz, who, with a gal- 
lant company of knights and retainers, had come to escort her 
through the lately-conquered territories to the camp, which was 
now removed to Moclin, another formidable place of strength, 
which Ferdinand had invested with his whole army. On her 
journey thither Isabella made a short stay at Loxa, where she 
and the young Infanta visited the sick and wounded soldiers, 
distributing among them money and raiment, and medical aid, 
according to their need. Thence Isabella proceeded through 
the mountain-roads toward Moclin, still respectfully escorted 
by the brave Marquis of Cadiz, who attended at her bridle-rein, 
and was treated by her with all the distinction due to so valiant 
and courteous a knight. When she approached the camp, the 
young Duke del Infantado, with all his retainers, in their usual 
gorgeous array, met her at the distance of several miles ; and 
when they came in view of the tents, the king rode forth to re- 
ceive her, at the head of the grandees, and attended by all the 
chivalry of his army, glittering in their coats of mail and em- 
broidered vests, with waving plumes, and standards and pennons 
floating in the summer air. " The queen," says the Chronicle, 
'' was mounted on a chestnut •mule, in a saddle-chair of state ; 
the housings were of fine crimson cloth embroidered with gold ; 
the reins and head-piece were of satin, curiously wrought with 
needlework. The queen wore a skirt of velvet over petticoats 
* of brocade ; a scarlet mantle hung from her shoulders, and her 
hat was of black velvet embroidered with gold." The dress of 
the young Infanta was all of black, and a black mantilla, orna- 
mented in the Moorish fashion, hung on her shoulders. The 
ladies of the court, all richly dressed, followed on forty mules. 
The meeting between Ferdinand and Isabella on this occasion 



126 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

was arranged with true Spanish gravity and etiquette. Laying 
their conjugal character aside for the present, they approached 
each other as sovereigns — each alighting at some paces' dis- 
tance, made three profound reverences before they embraced. 
The queen, it is remarked, took off her embroidered hat, and 
remained with her head uncovered, except by a silken net 
which confined her hair. Ferdinand then kissed her respect- 
fully on the cheek, and, turning to his daughter, he took her in 
his arms, gave her a father's blessing, and kissed her on the lips. 
They then re-mounted, and the splendid procession moved on- 
ward to the camp, the Earl of Rivers riding next to the king 
and queen. 

Isabella and her daughter were present during the whole of 
the siege of Moclin, which was reduced with great difficulty, and 
principally through the skill of the Lombard engineers. It 
appears that in the use of all fire-arms the Spaniards greatly 
excelled the Moors ; and in the sciences of fortification and 
gunnery, which were still in their infancy, the Italians at this 
time exceeded all Europe. Moclin fell before the Spanish 
batteries, and the inhabitants capitulated ; and Isabella and her 
husband entered the city in solemn state with their band of 
warriors. They were preceded *by the standard of the cross, 
and a company of priests, with the choir of the royal chapel, 
chanting the Te Deum. As they moved thus in solemn proces- 
sion through the smoking and deserted streets of the fallen city, 
they suddenly heard a number of voices, as if from under the 
earth, responding to the chorus of priests, and singing aloud, 
" Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord." There 
was a pause of astonishment ; and it was discovered that these 
were the voices of certain Christian captives who had been con- 
fined in the subterraneous dungeons of the fortress. Isabella, 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 127 

overcome with a variety of emotions, wept, and commanded that 
these captives should be instantly brought before her ; she then 
ordered them to be clothed and comforted, and conveyed in 
safety to their several homes. 

The queen remained for some weeks at Moclin, healing, as 
far as she was able^ the calamities of war — introducing regular 
government and good order into her new dominions — converting 
mosques into churches and convents, and founding colleges for 
the instruction and conversion of the Moors. It should not be 
omitted, that with all her zeal for religion, Isabella uniformly 
opposed herself to all measures of persecution or severity. The 
oppression and cruelty afterward exercised towards the con- 
quered Moors did not originate with her ; but, on the contrary, 
were most abhorrent to her benign temper and her natural 
sense of justice. She was ever their advocate and protectress, 
even while she lent all the energies of her mind to the prosecu- 
tion of the national and religious war she waged against them. 
Hence, she was hardly more beloved and revered by her 
Catholic than by her Moslem subjects. 

Ferdinand, meantime, marched forward, and ravaged the 
Vega, even to the very gates of G-ranada. He then returned 
to join the queen at Moclin ; and, at the conclusion of this tri- 
umphant campaign, the two sovereigns retu-ed to the city of 
Cordova, leaving young Frederick de Toledo, (already distin- 
guished for his military talents, and afterward the Duke of Alva 
of terrible memory,) to command upon the frontiers of their 
new conquests. 

From Cordova, Isabella removed to Salamanca, where the 
plans and proposals of Columbus were for the first time laid 
before a council appointed to consider them. When we read 
in history of the absurd reasoning, the narrow-minded objec- 



128 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

tions, tlie superstitious scruples, which grave stcUesmen and 
learned doctors opposed to the philosophical arguments and 
enthusiastic eloquence of Columbus, we cannot wonder that 
Isabella herself should doubt and hesitate. Her venerable min- 
ister, the Cardinal Mendoza, favored Columbus, but her con- 
fessor, Ferdinand de Talavera, was decidedly inimical to all 
plans of discovery, and by his private influence over the queen, 
he was enabled to throw a thousand impediments in the way of 
the great navigator, and defer his access to Isabella. 

The winter passed away before the council at Salamanca came 
to any decision. Early in the spring of 1487, King Ferdinand 
took the field with twenty thousand cavalry and fifty thousand 
foot ; while Isabella remained at Cordova, to preside as usual 
over the affairs of government, and make arrangements for con- 
veying to this vast army the necessary and regular supplies. It 
was the design of Ferdinand to attack Malaga, the principal sea- 
port of Granada, and the second city of the kingdom, and thus 
cut off any succors that might be expected from the Mahometan 
states of Africa. It was necessary to reduce several strong 
places before the army could invest the city of Malaga, and 
among others, Velez Malaga. Before this last-mentioned town, 
the king exhibited a trait of personal valor which had nearly 
proved fatal to him. The camp being endangered by a sudden 
attack of the Moors, he rushed into the battle, armed only with 
his lance ; his equery was slain at his side, and Ferdinand in- 
stantly transfixed with his spear the Moor who had killed his 
attendant. He was thus left without a weapon, surrounded by 
the enemy, and, had not the Marquis of Cadiz and others of 
his nobles galloped to his rescue, he must have perished. On his 
return to the camp in safety, he made a vow to the Virgin, never 
again to enter the battle without his sword girded to his side. 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 129 

When Isabella was informed of this incident, she was greatly 
agitated. The gallantry and danger of her husband appear to 
have left a strong impression on her imagination, for long after- 
ward she granted to the inhabitants of Velez Malaga, as the 
arms of their city, an escutcheon, representing the figure of the 
king on horseback, with the equery dead at his feet, and the 
Moors flying before him. 

In the beginning of May, Ferdinand undertook the memorable 
siege of Malaga, which lasted more than three months. The 
city was strongly fortified, and, contrary to the wishes of the 
opulent and peaceful merchants, was most obstinately defended 
by Hamet el Zegri, a valiant old Moor, who had the command 
of the garrison. To him the horrible sufferings inflicted on the 
inhabitants by a protracted siege appeared quite unworthy the 
consideration of a soldier, whose duty it was to defend the for- 
tress intrusted to him. The difficulties, dangers, and delays 
which attended this siege, so dispirited the Spaniards, that many 
thought of abandoning it altogether. A report that such was 
the intention of the sovereigns was circulated among the Chris- 
tians and the Moors, and gave fresh courage to the latter. To 
disprove it in the sight of both nations, Queen Isabella, attended 
by her daughter and the whole retinue of her court, arrived to 
take up her residence in the camp. 

Isabella was received by her army with shouts of exultation. 
Immediately on her arrival, she gave a proof of the benignity 
of her disposition, by entreating that the attacks on the city 
might be discontinued, and offers of peace sent in her name to 
the besieged. The firing accordingly ceased for that day, and 
gladly Tould the inhabitants of Malaga have accepted her over- 
tures ; but the fierce Hamet el Zegri disdainfully rejected them, 



130 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

and even threatened with death the first person who should pro- 
pose to capitulate. 

The Marquis of Cadiz invited the queen and the infanta to a 
banquet in his tent, which crowned with its floating banners and 
silken draperies the summit of a lofty hill, opposite to the citadel 
of Malaga. While he was pointing out to Isabella the various 
arrangements of the royal camp, which, filled with warlike tumult 
the valley at their feet — while he was explaining the operations 
of the siege, the strong defences of the city, and the effects of 
the tremendous ordnance — he suddenly beheld from one of the 
enemy's towers his own family-banner hung out in scorn and 
defiance ; it was the same which had been captured by the 
Moors, in the terrible defeat among the mountains, in 1483. 
Whatever the marquis might have felt at this insult offered to 

him in the presence of his queen and the noblest ladies of her 

♦ . . . . 
court, he suppressed his indignation. While his kinsmen and 

followers breathed deep vows of revenge, he alone maintained a 
grave silence, and seemed unmindful of the insolent taunt ; but 
within a few days afterward, +he tower from which his banner 
had been displayed in mockery, lay a heap of ruins. 

While Isabella remained in the camp before Malaga, her life, 
which her virtues had rendered dear and valuable to her people, 
had nearly been brought to a tragical close. A Moorish fanatic 
named Agerbi, who had among his own people the reputation of 
a santon, or holy prophet, undertook to deliver his country from 
its enemies. He found means to introduce himself into the 
Christian camp, where his wild and mysterious appearance ex- 
cited equal astonishment and curiosity ; he pretended to the gift 
of prophecy, and required to be conducted to the king and queen, 
to whom he promised to reveal the event of the siege and other 
secrets of importance. By command of the Marquis of Cadiz, 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 131 

he was conducted to the royal tents. It happened, fortunately, 
that the king was then asleep. The queen, though impatient and 
curious to behold this extraordinary prophet, of whom her at- 
tendants had made such a wonderful report, yet, with her usual 
delicacy toward her husband, refused to receive the Moor, or 
listen to his communications, until the king should wake ; he 
was, therefore, conducted into a tent in which the Marchioness 
of Moya and Don Alvaro were playing at chess — a few at- 
tendants were standing round. From the dress and high bear- 
ing of these personages, and the magnificent decorations of the 
pavilion, the Moorish santon believed himself in presence of the 
king and queen ; and while they were gazing on him with wonder 
and cuiiosity, he drew a cimeter from beneath his robe, struck 
Don Alvaro to the earth, and turning on the marchioness, aimed 
a blow at her head, which had been fatal, if the point of his 
weapon had not caught in the hangings of the tent, and thus 
arrested its force, so that it lighted harmless on the golden 
ornaments in her hair. This passed like lightning. In the next 
moment the assassin was flung to the earth by a friar and the 
queen's treasurer, and instantly massacred by the guards, who 
rushed in upon hearing the deadly struggle. The soldiers, in a 
paroxysm of indignation, seized on his body, and threw it into 
the city from one of their military engines. Don Alvaro re- 
covered from his wound, and an additional guard, composed of 
twelve hundred cavaliers of rank, was stationed round the royal 
tents. Isabella, though struck at first with consternation and 
horror at this treacherous attempt on her life, was still anxious 
to spare the miserable inhabitants of Malaga. By her advice, 
terms of capitulation were again offered to the city, but in vain ; 
Hamet el Zegri, encouraged by a certain Moorish necromancer 
whom he entertained in his household, and who fed him with 



132 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

false hopes and predictionSj again rejected her overtures with 
contempt. 

It appears J that among those who joined the court of Isabella 
before Malaga, was Columbus, whose expenses on this occasion 
were defrayed from the royal treasury.* But amid the clash 
and din of arms, and the dangers and anxieties of the siege — 
the murderous sallies and fierce assaults, only relieved now and 
then by solemn religious festivals, or by the princely banquets 
given by the various commanders at their respective quarters — 
there was no time to bestow on the considerations of plans for 
the discovery of distant worlds ; the issue of a long and terrible 
war hung upon the event of an hour, and the present crisis en- 
grossed the thoughts of all. 

In the meantime the siege continued — famine raged within 
the city, and the people, seized with despair, were no longer 
restrained by the threats or the power of Hamet el Zegri. They 
pursued him with curses and lamentations as he rode through 
the streets — mothers threw down their starving infants before 
his horses. '' Better," they exclaimed, ''that thou shouldst 
trample them to death at once, than that we should behold them 
perish by inches, and listen to their famished cries." Hamet, 
unable to stem the tide of popular fury, withdrew into the 
fortress of the citadel, called the Gibralfaro, and abandoned the 
town and its inhabitants to their fate ; they immediately sur- 
rendered at discretion, and were forced to ransom themselves 
from slavery on hard and cruel terms, which very few were able 
to fulfill. The fortress yielded soon afterward. Hamet el Zegri 
was thrown into a dungeon, and the garrison sold into slavery. 
Sixteen hundred Christian captives were found in the city of 
Malaga ; they were sent to Queen Isabella, as the most accept- 

* Vide Life and Voyages of Columbus. 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 133 

able trophy of her success ; and yet the same Isabella, who 
received these poor people with compassionate tenderness — who 
took off their fetters with her own hands, relieved their wants, 
and restored them to their families and houses — the same 
Isabella sent fifty beautiful Moorish girls as a present to the 
Queen of Naples — thirty to the Queen of Portugal, and others 
she reserved for herself and for the favorite ladies of her house- 
hold. 

In the following year (1488) Ferdinand led his army to 
attack the Moors on the eastern side of Glranada. This campaign 
was short, and by no means successful, owing to the military 
prowess of El Zagal, who ruled in these provinces. Isabella 
spent the ensuing winter at Saragossa and Yalladolid, occupied 
in the domestic affairs of her kingdom, and in the education of 
her children. Yoltaire asserts, that Isabella and her husband 
" neither loved nor hated each other, and that they lived 
together less as husband and wife than as allied and independent 
sovereigns ;" but on closer examination of their history, this 
does not appear to be true. Isabella's marriage had been a 
union of inclination as well as of policy. In her youth she had 
both loved and admired her husband. As his cold and selfish 
character disclosed itself, she may possibly have felt her esteem 
and affection decline ; and it is remarked by Voltaire himself, 
that she deeply suffered as a woman and a wife, not only from 
her husband's coldness, but from his frequent infidelities. Yet, 
if they had private disagreements, they were never betrayed to 
the prying eyes of the courtiers. In this respect she maintained 
her own dignity and his with admirable self-command. She 
found consolation for her domestic sorrows in the society of her 
eldest daughter, the Infanta Isabella, and in the excellent 
qualities of her son Don Juan. Her second daughter, Joanna, 



134 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

had been from lier infancy subject to fits, which in the course of 
years disordered her intellect. Her youngest daughter, Catherine, 
who has obtained a mournful celebrity in history as Catherine 
of Arragon, was about this time demanded in marriage by 
Henry VII. of England for his son Prince Arthur. This infant 
marriage sealed a commercial and political treaty between the 
two countries, which remained unbroken till the time of Philip 
II. and Queen Elizabeth. 

The year 1489 was rendered memorable by the siege of 
Baza, a fortress situated on the eastern confines of Granada. 
On the reduction of this place depended the event of the war, 
and the king invested it with an army of twenty-five thousand 
men. While he was before the place, displaying his military 
skill, and leading on his gallant chivalry, a far more difficult 
task devolved on Queen Isabella ; she had to attend to the 
affairs of government, and at the same time to provide all things 
for supplying a large army, inclosed in the enemy's country, 
and to which there was no access but over difficult mountain- 
roads and dangerous passes. The incredible expenses and diffi- 
culties she met and overcame, and the expedients to which she 
had recourse, give us the most extraordinary idea of her talents, 
her activity, and her masculine energy of mind. The under- 
taking was in fact so hazardous, that those who usually con- 
tracted for the supply of the army now refused to do it on any 
terms. Isabella was therefore left to her own resources. She 
constructed roads through the rugged mountainous frontier for 
the conveyance of the convoys — she hired fourteen thousand 
mules, which were incessantly employed in the transport of 
grain and other necessaries. To supply the almost incredible 
expense, she had not recourse to any oppressive measures of taxa- 
tion ; many prelates and convents opened to her their treasures ; 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 135 

she pledged her own plate ; and it is related that many wealthy 
individuals readily lent her large sums of money on no other 
security than her word — such was the character she bore among 
her subjects, such their confidence in her faith and truth. 
'' And thus," says the Chronicle, '' through the wonderful ac- 
tivity, judgment and enterprise of this heroic and magnanimous 
woman, a great host, encamped in the heart of a warlike country, 
accessible only over mountain-roads, was maintained in continual 
abundance ;" and to her the ultimate success of the undertaking 
may be attributed. After the siege had lasted nearly seven 
months at an immense cost of treasure and waste of life, Isabella 
came with her daughter and all her retinue, and took up her 
residence in the camp. When from the towers of Baza the 
Moors beheld the queen and all her splendid train emerging 
from the defiles, and descending the mountain-roads in a long 
and gorgeous array, they beat their breasts, and exclaimed, 
'' Now is the fate of Baza decided !" yet such was the admira- 
tion and reverence which this extraordinary woman commanded 
even among her enemies, that not a gun was fired, not a shaft 
discharged, nor the slightest interruption offered to her progress. 
On her arrival there was at once a cessation of all hostilities, as 
if by mutual though tacit consent, and shortly after Baza sur- 
rendered on honorable terms. The chief of the Moorish garrison, 
Prince Cidi Yahye, was so captivated by the winning grace and 
courtesy with which Isabella received him, that he vowed never 
more to draw his sword against her ; the queen accepted him 
as her knight, and replied to his animated expressions of devo- 
tion with much sweetness, saying, '' that now he was no longer 
opposed to her, she considered the war of Granada as already 
terminated." 

Baza surrendered in December, 1489, and was soon followed 



136 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

by the submission of the haughty Moor El Zagal, who, driven 
from place to place, and unable any longer to contend against 
the Christian forces, yielded up that part of the kingdom of 
Granada which yet acknowledged him as sovereign, and did 
homage to Ferdinand and Isabella as their vassal. 

King Boabdil yet ruled in Granada, and the treaty of his 
friendship between him and the Catholic king had been duly 
observed as long as it suited the policy of Ferdinand ; but no 
sooner had El Zagal surrendered than Boabdil was called upon 
to yield up his capital, and receive in lieu of it the revenues of 
certain Moorish towns. Boabdil might possibly have accepted 
these terms, but the citizens of Granada and the warriors who 
had assembled within it, rose up against him, and under the com- 
mand of Muza, a noble and valiant Moor, they returned a 
haughty defiance to Ferdinand, declaring that they would perish 
beneath the walls of their glorious city, ere they would surren- 
der the seat of Moorish power into the hands of unbelievers. 
Ferdinand and Isabella deferred for a time the completion of 
their conquest, and retired after this campaign to the city of 
Seville. In the spring of 1490, the Infanta Isabella was united 
to Don Alphonso, the Prince of Portugal ; and for some weeks 
after the celebration of these nuptials, the court at Seville pre- 
sented a continual scene of splendor and revelry, banquets, 
feasts, and tournaments. In the midst of these external re- 
joicings the heart of Isabella bled over her approaching separa- 
tion from her beloved daughter, and the young princess herself 
wore a look of settled melancholy, which seemed prophetic of 
the woes of her short-lived marriage. 

It was just at this crisis that Columbus renewed his solicita- 
tions, and pressed for a decided answer to his propositions. He 
was referred as before to a council or board of inquiry, and the 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 137 

final report of this committee of '' scientific men" is too edify- 
ing to be omitted here. It was their opinion, '' that the 
scheme proposed was vain and impossible, and that it did not 
become such great princes to engage in an enterprise of the 
kind, on such weak grounds as had been advanced."^ 

Notwithstanding this imfavorable report, and the ill offices of 
Fernando de Talavera, the sovereigns did not wholly dismiss 
Columbus, but still held out a hope that at a future period, and 
after the conclusion of the war, they would probably renew the 
treaty with him. But Columbus had been wearied and dis- 
gusted by his long attendance on the court, and he would no 
longer listen to these evasive and indefinite promises. He quitted 
Seville in deep disappointment and indignation, at the very time 
that Ferdinand and Isabella were assembling the army destined 
for the siege of Granada, little suspecting, that while they were 
devoting all their energies and expending all their resources in 
the conquest of a petty kingdom, they were blindly rejecting 
the acquisition of a world. 

On the 11th of April, 1491, King Ferdinand took the field 
for this last campaign. His army consisted of forty thousand in- 
fantry and ten thousand cavalry. He was accompanied by his 
son, Don Juan, then a fine youth of sixteen, and by all the 
chivalry of Castile and Arragon, including the Marquis of 
Cadiz, and the Marquis of Yillena — the Counts de Cabre, de 
Tendilla, Cifuentes, and Urefta, Don Alonzo de Aguilar, and 
Gonsalvo de Cordova, all names renowned in the annals of 
Spain. Isabella with her family and retinue remained for a 
time at Alcala la Real, a strong place on the frontiers ; but 
they soon afterward quitted this fortress, and took up their 

♦ Vide Life and Voyaj^es of Columbus. 



138 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

residence in the camp before Granada. The Moors, excited by 
the enthusiasm and example of Muza, their heroic commander, 
defended their city with courageous obstinacy, and the environs 
of Grranada were the scene of many romantic exploits and re- 
nowned deeds of arms. One or two of these adventures, in which 
Isabella was personally interested, ought to find a place here. 

It happened on a certain day, when the siege had already 
lasted about two months, that a fierce Moorish chief, named El 
Tarfe, made a sally from the walls, with a band of followers. 
He galloped almost alone up to the Christian camp, leaped the 
intrenchments, flung his lance into the midst of the royal tents, 
and then turning his horse, sprung again over the barriers, and 
galloped back to the city with a speed which left his pursuers 
far behind. When the tumult of surprise had ceased, the 
lance of El Tarfe was found quivering in the earth, and affixed 
to it a label, purporting that it was intended for the Queen 
Isabella. 

Such an audacious insult offered to their adored and sovereign 
lady, filled the whole Christian host with astonishment and in- 
dignation. A Castilian knight, named Perez de Pulgar, deeply 
swore to retort this insolent bravado on the enemy. Accompa- 
nied by a few valiant friends, he forced his way through one of 
the gates of Grranada, galloped up to the principal mosque, and 
there, throwing himself from his horse, he knelt down, and 
solemnly took possession of it, in the name of the Blessed 
Virgin. Then taking a tablet, on which were inscribed the 
words Ave Maria, he nailed it to the portal of the mosque 
with his dagger, re-mounted his horse, and safely regained the 
camp, slaying or overturning all his opponents. 

On the day which succeeded this daring exploit. Queen 
Isabella and her daughters expressed a wish to have a nearer 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 139 

view of the city, and of the glorious palace of the Alhambra, 
than they could obtain from the camp. The noble Marquis of 
Cadiz immediately prepared to gratify this natural but perilous 
curiosity ; assembling a brilliant and numerous escort, composed 
of chosen warriors, he conducted Isabella and her retinue to a. 
rising ground nearer the city, whence they might view to advan- 
tage the towers and heights of the Alhambra. 

When the Moors beheld this splendid and warlike array ap- 
proaching their city, they sent forth a body of their bravest 
youth, who challenged the Christians to the fight. But Isabella, 
unwilling that her curiosity should cost the life of one human 
being, absolutely forbade the combat ; and her knights obeyed, 
but sorely against their will. All at once, the fierce and in- 
solent El Tarfe, armed at all points, was seen to advance ; he 
slowly paraded close to the Christian ranks, dragging at his 
horse's tail the inscription " Ave Maria," which Pulgar had 
affixed to the mosque a few hours before. On beholding this 
abominable sacrilege, all the zeal, the pride, the long-restrained 
fury of the Castilians burst forth at once. Pulgar was not 
present, but one of his intimate friends, Grarcilaso do la Vega,*' 
threw himself at the feet of the queen, and so earnestly en- 
treated her permission to avenge this insult, that his request 
was granted ; he encountered and slew the Moor in single 
combat, and the engagement immediately became general. 
Isabella, at once shocked by the consequences of her curiosity, 
and terrified by the sudden onset and din of arms, threw herself 
on her knees with all her ladies, and prayed earnestly, while 
" lance to lance, and horse to horse," the battle fiercely raged 
around her. At length, victory decided for the Christians, 
and the Moors were driven back with loss upon the city. The 

* This Garciiatio de la Vega ia said to have been the fatlicr of the great poet. 



140 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

Marquis of Cadiz tlien rode up to the queen, and while she yet 
trembled with agitation, he, with grave courtesy, apologized for 
the combat which had taken place, as if it had been a mere 
breach of etiquette, and gallantly attributed the victory to her 
presence. On the spot where this battle was fought Isabella 
founded a convent, which still exists, and in its garden is a 
laurel which, according to the tradition of the place, was 
planted by her own hand. 

Not long afterward Isabella was exposed to still greater dan- 
ger. One sultry night in the month of July, she had been 
lying on her couch, reading by the light of a taper. About 
midnight she arose and went into her oratory to perform her 
devotions ; and one of her attendants, in removing the taper, 
placed it too near the silken curtains which divided her magnifi- 
cent pavilion into various compartments ; the hangings, moved 
by the evening breeze, caught fire, and were instantly in a blaze — 
the conflagration spread from tent to tent, and in a few moments 
the whole of this division of the camp was in flames. 

The queen had scarcely time to extricate herself from the 
burning draperies, and her first thought was for the safety of her 
husband. She flew to his tent. The king, upon the first alarm, 
and uncertain of the nature of the danger, had leaped from his 
bed, and was rushing forth half-dressed, with his sword in his hand. 
The king being in safety, Isabella's next thought was for her 
son ; but he had already been extricated by his attendant, and 
carried to the tent of the Marquis of Cubra. No lives were lost, 
but the whole of the queen's wardrobe and an immense quantity 
of arms and treasure were destroyed. 

The Moors, who from their walls ^eheld this conflagration, 
entertained some hopes that such a terrible disaster and the 
approach of winter would induce the sovereigns to abandon the 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 141 

siege. Their astonishment was great when they saw a noble 
and regular city rise from the ruins of the camp. It owed its 
existence to the piety and magnanimity of Isabella, who founded 
it as a memorial of her gratitude to Heaven, and at the same 
time to manifest the determination of herself and her husband 
never to relinquish the siege while Granada remained standing. 
The army wished to call this new city by the name of their 
beloved queen ; but the piety of Isabella disclaimed this com- 
pliment, and she named it La Santa Fe. 

It was during the erection of this city that Queen Isabella 
once more dispatched a missive to Columbus, desiring his return 
to the court, that she might have farther conference with him ; 
and she sent him at the same time, with that benevolence which 
characterized her, a sum of money to bear his expenses, and to 
provide him with a mule for his journey, and habiliments fitted 
to appear in the royal presence. He arrived at the city of Santa 
Fe just as Granada, reduced to the last extremity by famine and 
the loss of its bravest inhabitants, had surrendered on terms of 
capitulation, and the standard of the Cross and the great banner 
of Castile were seen floating together on the lofty watch-tower 
of the Alhambra. It was on the 6th of January, 1492, that 
Isabella ai^ Ferdinand made their triumphal entry into the 
fallen city. The unfortunate Boabdil met them, and surrendered 
the keys to King Ferdinand. He would have dismounted and 
tendered the usual token of vassalage, by kissing the hands of 
the king and queen, but they generously declined it; and Isa- 
bella, with many kind and courteous words, delivered to Boabdil 
his only son, who had hitherto been detained as a hostage. The 
Moorish monarch, accompanied by all his family and suite, then 
took his melancholy way towards the province which had been 
assigned to him as his future residence. On reaching a hill 



142 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

above Granada, (whicli has since been called by the Spaniards 
El Ultimo Suspiro del Moro^ "the last sigh of the Moor "), 
Boabdil turned, and, casting a last look back on the beautiful 
Vega, and the glorious city of his forefathers, he burst into tears. 
'' You do well," said his high-spirited mother, Ayxa, '' to weep 
like a woman for what you knew not how to defend like a man !" 
The reproof might have been just, but in such a moment the 
cruel taunt ill became a mother's heart or lips. Boabdil after- 
ward retired to Africa, and resided in the territories of the King 
of Fez. He survived the conquest of Granada thirty-four years, 
and died at last on the field, valiantly fighting in defence of the 
kingdom of Fez. 

The war of Granada lasted ten years, and with the surrender 
of the capital terminated the dominion of the Moors in Spain, 
which, dating from the defeat of Roderick, the last of the Goths, 
had endured seven hundred and seventy-eight years. When 
the tumult of this great triumph had in some degree subsided, 
Isabella had leisure to attend to Columbus, and the negotiation 
with him was renewed. The terms, however, on which he 
insisted with a lofty enthusiasm, appeared so exorbitant when 
compared with his lowly condition and the vague nature of his 
views, that his old adversary, Fernando de Talavera. now Arch- 
bishop of Granada, again interposed between him and the kind 
intentions of the queen, and said so much that Isabella, after 
some hesitation, declared his pretensions to be inadmissible. 
Columbus, on the other hand, would not abate one iota of his 
demands. In bitterness of spirit he saddled his mule, and 
turned his back on Santa Fe. Scarcely had he departed when 
two of his most enthusiastic friends, who were besides high in 
the royal favor,* waited on the queen. They vindicated Colum- 

* Luis de St. Angel and Alonzo de Quintanilla. 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 143 

bus from the aspersions of Talavera ; they entreated, they remon- 
strated with all the zeal which their friendship for him and their 
loyalty to the queen could inspire. The Marchioness of Moya 
added to their arguments the most eloquent persuasions. Isa- 
bella listened. She had ever been friendly to this great and 
glorious enterprise, and her enthusiasm was now kindled by that 
of her friend. She still hesitated for one moment, recollecting 
how completely the royal treasury was drained by the late war, 
and that the king, her husband, was coldly averse to the measure. 
At length she exclaimed, '' It shall be so — I will undertake the 
enterprise for my own kingdom of Castile, and will pledge my 
jewels for the necessary sum !" " This," says the historian 
of Columbus, " was the proudest moment in the life of Isabella. 
It stamped her renown forever as the patroness of the discovery 
of the New World." 

A courier was immediately dispatched to recall Columbus, 
who had already reached the bridge of Pinos, two or three 
leagues from Grranada. He hesitated at first, but when he was 
informed that the messenger came from the queen herself, and 
bore her pledge and promise, confiding in her royal word, he 
turned his mule at once, and retraced his steps to Santa Fe. 
The compact between the two sovereigns and Columbus was 
signed in April, 1492, Isabella undertaking all the expenses 
except one-eighth, which was borne by the admiral ; and in the 
following August Columbus set sail from Palos. 

The history of his voyages and discoveries does not properly 
enter into the personal history of Queen Isabella. It may be 
remarked generally, that in all her conduct toward Columbus, 
and all her views and decrees in the government of the newly- 
discovered world, we find the same beautiful consistency, the 
same generous feeling, and the same rectitude of intention. 



144 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

Next to that moment in which Isabella declared herself the 
sole patroness of Columbus, and undertook the voyage of dis- 
covery for her '' own kingdom of Castile," the most memorable 
epoch of her life was his return from the JSTew World, when she 
received him in state at Barcelona; and, when laying at her 
feet the productions of those unknown lands, he gave her a 
detailed narrative of his wonderful voyage. 

Isabella was particularly struck by his account of the inhabi- 
tants of these new-found regions ; she took a tender interest in 
their welfare, and often reiterated her special commands to 
Columbus that they should be treated with kindness, and con- 
verted or civilized only by the gentlest means. Of the variety 
of circumstances which interposed between these poor people 
and her benevolent intentions we can only judge by a detailed 
account of the events which followed, and the characters of those 
intrusted with the management of the new discoveries. When 
the most pious churchmen and enlightened statesmen of her 
time could not determine whether it was or was not lawful, and, 
according to the Christian religion, to enslave the Indians — 
when Columbus himself pressed the measure as a political ne- 
cessity, and at once condemned to slavery those who offered the 
slightest opposition to the Spanish invaders — Isabella settled the 
matter according to the dictates of her own merciful heart and 
upright mind. She ordered that all the Indians should be con- 
veyed back to their respective homes, and forbade absolutely all 
harsh measures toward them on any pretence. Unuble at such 
a distance to measure all the difficulties with which Columbus 
had to contend, her indignation fell on him ; and the cruelties 
which his followers exercised, at least under the sanction of his 
name, drew on him her deep displeasure. 
. While under the immediate auspices of Isabella these grand 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 145 

discoveries were proceeding in the New World, Ferdinand was 
engrossed by ambitious projects nearer home. Naples had been 
invaded by Charles VIII. in 1494, and Gonsalvo de Cordova 
had been sent to oppose him. Gonsalvo, " the Grreat Captain," 
by a series of brilliant military successes and political perfidies 
of the deepest dye, in the end secured the kingdom of Naples for 
his master, Ferdinand. The legitimate heir, and last descendant 
of the family of Alphonso, '' the Magnanimous," was brought a 
prisoner to Spain, and died there after a captivity of fifty years. 

Isabella, meantime, in the interior of her palace, was occupied 
by interests and feelings nearer and dearer to her heart than 
the conquest of kingdoms or the discovery of worlds ; and, 
during the last few years of her life, she was gradually crushed 
to the earth by a series of domestic calamities, which no human 
wisdom could have averted, and for which no earthly prosperity 
could afford consolation. 

In 1496, her mother, the queen-dowager of Castile, died in 
her arms. In 1497, just before Columbus sailed on his third 
voyage, a double family arrangement had been made between 
the houses of Spain and Austria, which bade fair to consolidate 
the power of both. The Infanta Joanna was betrothed to the 
Archduke Philip, son and heir of the Emperor Maximilian ; and 
the same splendid and gallant fleet which bore her from the shores 
of Spain brought back Margaret of Austria, the destined wife of 
Prince Juan, the only son of Isabella and Ferdinand. In the 
spring of 1497, Juan and Margaret, then both in the bloom of 
youth, were united at Burgos, with all befitting pomp and revelry. 

The queen's most beloved daughter, the Princess Isabella, 
luid lost her young husband, Alphonso of Portugal ; within four 
months after his marriage he was killed by a fall from his horse, 
and she retired to a convent, where, from an excess of grief or 



146 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

pietjj she gave herself up to a course of religious abstinence and 
austerities which undermined her constitution. Several years 
after the death of Alphonso she was induced to bestow her hand 
on his cousin and heir, Don Emanuel, who had just ascended the 
throne of Portugal. While yet the customary festivities were 
going forward upon the occasion of this royal marriage, the young 
Prince Juan died of a fever, within five months after his mar- 
riage with Margaret, and her infant perished ere it saw the light. 
Isabella, though struck to the heart by this cruel disappointment 
of her best hopes and affections, found strength in her habitual 
piety to bear the blow, and was beginning to recover from the 
first bitterness of grief, when a stroke, even more lastingly and 
deeply felt, bowed her almost to the grave with sorrow. Her 
daughter, the Queen of Portugal, whom she appears to have 
loved and trusted beyond every human being, died in childbirth 
at Toledo, bequeathing to her mother's care a beautiful but 
feeble infant, the heir to Castile, Arragon, and Granada, to 
Portugal, Navarre, Naples, Sicily, and to all the opening glories 
of the eastern and western worlds. As if crushed beneath the 
burden of such magnificent destinies, the child pined away and 
died. These successive losses followed so quick upon one an- 
other, that it seemed as if the hand of Heaven had doomed the 
house of Ferdinand and Isabella to desolation. 

The reader need hardly be reminded of the ignominious and 
ungrateful treatment of Columbus, nor of the manner in which 
he was sent home after his third voyage, loaded with fetters, 
from the world he had discovered, to the sovereigns he had en- 
riched and aggrandized by his discoveries. In justice to Isa- 
bella, it is fit to account for her share in this revolting transac- 
tion ; and it cannot be done better or more succinctly than in 
the very words of the historian of Columbus : — 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 147 

" The queen, having taken a maternal interest in the welfare 
of the natives, had been repeatedly offended by what appeared 
to her pertinacity on the part of Columbus, in continuing to 
make slaves of those taken in warfare, in contradiction to her 
known wishes. The same ships which brought home the com- 
panions of Roldan brought likewise a great number of slaves. 
Some Columbus had been obliged to grant to these men by 
articles of capitulation — others they had brought away clan- 
destinely ; among them were several daughters of caciques, who 
had been seduced away from their families and their native 
island by these profligates. The gifts and transfers of these 
unhappy beings were all ascribed to the will of Columbus, and 
represented to Isabella in their darkest colors. Her sensibility 
as a woman and her dignity as a queen were instantly in arms. 
' What power,' she exclaimed, indignantly, ' has the admiral to 
give away my vassals P She determined, by one decided and 
peremptory act, to show her abhorrence of these outrages upon 
humanity ; she ordered all the Indians to be restored to their 
country and friends. Nay, more, her measure was retro- 
spective. She commanded that those who had formerly been 
sent home by the admiral should be sought out, and sent back 
to Hispaniola. Unfortunately for Columbus, at this very junc- 
ture, in one of his letters he had advised the continuance of 
Indian slavery for some time longer, as a measure important 
for the welfare of the colony. This contributed to heighten 
the indignation of Isabella, and induced her no longer to op- 
pose the sending out of a commission to investigate his conduct, 
and, if necessary, to supersede his commission." 

When Columbus had sailed on liis first voyage of discovery, 
Isabella had given a strong proof of her kindly feeling toward 
him, by appointing his sons pages to Don Juan ; thus providing 



148 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

for their education, and opening to them a path to the highest 
offices in the court. Hence, perhaps, arose the friendship which 
existed between Columbus and Donna Joanna de Torres, who had 
been nurse or gouvernante of the young prince, and was high in 
the confidence and favor of Isabella. Too proud, perhaps, to 
address himself immediately to those who had injured him, Co- 
lumbus wrote to Donna Joanna a detailed account of the dis- 
graceful treatment he had met, and justified his own conduct. 
The court was then at Granada, and Joanna de Torres in at- 
tendance on the queen. No sooner had she received the letter 
than she carried it to her mistress, and read aloud this solemn 
and affecting appeal against the injustice and ingratitude with 
which his services had been recompensed. Isabella, who had 
never contemplated such an extremity, was filled with mingled 
astonishment, indignation, and sorrow. She immediately wrote 
to Columbus, expressing her grief for all he had endured, apolo- 
gizing for the conduct of Bovadilla, and inviting him in affec- 
tionate terms to visit the court. He came accordingly, '^ not 
as one in disgrace, but richly dressed, and with all the marks 
of rank and distinction. Isabella received him in the Alhambra, 
and when he entered her apartment she was so overpowered 
that she burst into tears, and could only extend her hand to 
him. Columbus himself, who had borne up firmly against the 
stern conflicts of the world, and had endured with a lofty scorn 
the injuries and insults of ignoble men, when he beheld the 
queen's emotion, could no longer suppress his own. He threw 
himself at her feet, and for some time was unable to utter a 
word, for the violence of his tears and sobbings."* There can 
be no doubt that, had it depended on Isabella, Columbus would 
never more have had reason to complain of injustice or ingrati- 

* Vide Life and Voyages of Columbus. 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE 149 

tude on the part of the sovereigns ; he had won her entire es- 
teem and her implicit confidence, and all her intentions towards 
him were sincerely kind and upright.^ It was owing to the 
interference of Ferdinand and his ministers that the vice -royalty 
of the New World was taken from him and given to Ovando, 
as a temporary measure ; but it was under Isabella's peculiar 
patronage and protection that he sailed on his fourth voyage of 
discovery, in 1502. 

Isabella did not live to see him return from this eventful and 
disastrous voyage. A dark cloud had gathered over her latter 
years, and domestic griefs and cares pressed heavily upon her 
afiectionate heart. The Princess Joanna, now her heiress, had 
married the Archduke Philip of Austria, who was remarkable 
for his gay manners and captivating person — the marriage had 
been one of mere policy on his part. But the poor princess, 
who, unhappily for herself, united to a plain person and infirm 
health, strong passions and great sensibility, had centered all 
her affections in her husband, whom she regarded with a fond 
and exclusive idolatry, while he returned her attachment with 
the most negligent coolness. It does not appear that the im- 
becility of Joanna was natural, but rather the effect of accident 
and disease, for occasionally she displayed glimpses of strong 
sense, generous pride, and high feeling, which rendered the 
derangement of her faculties more intensely painful and afi'ect- 
ing. Though Isabella had the satisfaction of seeing Joanna a 
mother — though she pressed in her arms a grandson, | whose 
splendid destinies, if she could have beheld them through the 
long lapse of years, might in part have consoled her ; yet the 
feeble health of this infant, and the sight of her daughter's 
misery, embittered her days. At length, on the departure of 

• Vide Life and Voyages of Columbus. f Afterward the Emperor Charles V. 



150 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

Philip for the Low Countries, the unhappy Joanna gave way to 
such transports of grief, that it ended in the complete bereave- 
ment of her senses. To this terrible blow was added another — 
for, about the same time, the news arrived that Catherine of 
Arragon had lost her young husband. Prince Arthur, after a 
union of only five months. Isabella's maternal heart, wounded 
in the early death or protracted sorrows of her children, had no 
hope, no consolation, but in her deep sense of religion. Ximenes 
was at this time her confessor. In his strong and upright, but 
somewhat harsh and severe mind, she found that support and 
counsel which might aid her in grappling with the cares of 
empire, but not the comfort which could soothe her affliction as 
a mother. Ferdinand was so engrossed by the Italian wars and 
in weaving subtle webs of policy either to ensnare his neighbors 
or veil his own deep-laid plans, that he had little thought or 
care for domestic sorrows. So Isabella pined away lonely in 
her grandeur, till the deep melancholy of her mind seized on 
her constitution, and threw her into a rapid decline. While 
on her death-bed, she received intelligence of Ovando's tyranni- 
cal government at Hispaniola, and of the barbarities which had 
been exercised upon the unhappy Indians, her horror and 
indignation hastened the effects of her disease. With her dying 
breath, she exacted from Ferdinand a solemn promise that he 
would instantly recall Ovando, redress the grievances of the 
poor Indians, and protect them from all future oppression. 
Ferdinand gave the required promise, and how he kept it is 
recorded in traces of blood and guilt in the history of the New 
World. Soon after this conversation Isabella expired at Medina 
del Campo, after a lingering illness of four months ; she died 
on the 25th of November, 1505, in the fifty-fourth year of her 
age, having reigned thirty-one years. In her last will she 



ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 151 

expressed a wish to be buried in the Alhambra — '' in a low 
sepulchre, without any monument, unless the king, her lord, 
should desire that his body after death should rest in any other 
spot. In that case, she willed that her body should be removed, 
and laid beside that of the king, wherever it might be de- 
posited ; in order," adds this affecting document of her piety, ten- 
derness, and humility — '' in order that the union we have enjoyed 
while living, and which (through the mercy of God) we hope 
our souls will experience in heaven, may be represented by 
our bodies in the earth." 

The character of Isabella as a woman and a queen, though 
not free from the failings incidental to humanity, is certainly the 
most splendid, and at the same time the most interesting and 
blameless, which history has recorded. She had all the talents, 
the strength of mind, and the royal pride of Queen Elizabeth, 
without her harshness, her despotism, and her arrogance ; and 
she possessed the personal grace, the gentleness, and feminine 
accomplishments of Mary Stuart, without her weakness. Her 
virtues were truly her own — her faults and errors were the 
result of external circumstances, and belonged to the times and 
the situation in which she was placed. What is most striking 
and singular in the character of Isabella, is the union of exces- 
sive pride — Castilian pride — amounting at times to haughtiness, 
and even willfulness, whenever her dignity as a queen was con- 
cerned, with extreme sensibility and softness of deportment as 
a woman. She adored her husband, and yet would never suffer 
him to interfere with her authority as an independent sovereign ; 
and she was as jealous of her prerogative as Elizabeth herself. 
When the cortes of Arragon hesitated to acknowledge her 
daughter Joanna the heiress to Arragon as well as to Castile, 
Isabella exclaimed, with all the willfulness of a proud woman, 



152 ISABELLA OF CASTILE. 

" Another time it were a sliorter way to assemble an army 
instead of assembling tbe states !" 

Although exposed in early life to all the contagion of a de- 
praved com't, Isabella preserved a reputation unsullied, even by 
the breath of calumny. The women who formed her court and 
habitual society were generally estimable. The men, who owed 
their rise to her particular favor and patronage, were all distin- 
guished either for worth or talent. The most illustrious were 
Columbus and Ximenes, certainly the two greatest men of that 
time, in point of original capacity, boldness of strength, and 
integrity of purpose. Ferdinand hated and opjDressed the former, 
and hated and feared the latter. Both would have been distin- 
guished in any age or under any ch'cumstances, but, next to 
themselves, they owed then* rise and theii' fame to Isabella. It 
was in the reign of Isabella that the Spanish language and 
literatm-e began to assume a polished and regular form. The 
two most celebrated poets of her time were the Marquis de 
Santillana and Juan de Encina. She patronized the newly-ia- 
vented art of printing, and the first printing-press set up in 
Spain was established at Burgos under her auspices, and 
priQted books ; and foreign classical works were imported free 
of duty. Through her zeal and patronage the University of 
Salamanca rose to that eminence which it assumed among the 
learned iastitutions of that period. She prepared the way for 
that golden age of Spanish literature which immediately 
succeeded. 

" Isabella de la paz y bontad :" — Isabella of peace and good- 
ness — ^was the simple, but beautiful designation bestowed upon 
her by her people ; and the universal regret and enthusiastic 
eulogies with which they have embalmed her memory have 
been ratified by history and posterity. 



Jcafiriee 6e^eL 



In an obscure part of Rome, near the Ghetto, or quarter of 
the Jews, stands a large gloomly pile, which, though partially 
modernized, retains all the characteristics of a feudal palace. 
Its foundations are seated upon the ruins of an ancient amphi- 
theatre, and its walls were probably raised, like most of the 
palaces in the Christian capital, at the expense of some noble 
monument of antiquity. A darkly tragic history, involving the 
fate of one of the oldest Patrician families of Home, and ending 
in its extinction, is connected with this building. It is a tale of 
suffering and of blood — one in which the most monstrous per- 
versity distorts the best and gentlest feelings of human nature, 
and converts a mild and lovely woman into a parricide. 

The record of such crimes, though it raises a thrill of breath- 
less horror, conveys at the same time a useful lesson. To 
watch the effects of a continued career of vice, or to trace the 
warping of an ardent but virtuous mind under the pressure of 
accumulated and unheard-of injuries, is to study a most import- 
ant page in the book of mankind. Precept is powerful, no 
doubt ; but when a terriJfic picture is placed before us, and the 
fearful reality brought home to the senses, it leaves a much 
more lasting impression. 

Such is my object in relating the events which follow ; as 
well as to show, that even the production of a positive good is 
not only no justification for crime, but that such crime leads to 



156 BEATRICE CENCI. 

certain and irreparable evil. Here we have a daughter inflict- 
ing death upon an iniquitous father ; and while a deep and soul- 
stirring interest is awakened by the sorrows and sufferings of 
Beatrice Cenci, a horror of the crime she committed will ever 
couple her name with infamy. 

Count Nicolo Cenci was the last living descendant of an 
ancient and noble house. In early life he had entered the 
ecclesiastical state, risen to the prelacy, and held, under the 
Pontificate of Pius V., the office of Treasurer to the Apostolic 
chamber. Being at length the sole survivor of his race, he 
resolved, though somewhat advanced in years, to return to 
secular life and marry — a practice not uncommon in the six- 
teenth century. At his death he left an only son, the inheritor 
of his honors and immense wealth. 

This son, the child of his old age and of his ambition, was 
Francesco Cenci, the father of Beatrice. The curse of iniquity 
seemed entailed upon him from his cradle. He was one of 
those human monsters which, bad as man may be, are the ano- 
malies of the species ; woe and despair were the ministers to his 
enjoyments, and the very atmosphere tainted with his breath 
was pregnant with death or misfortune to all who came within 
its influence. Before he had reached his twentieth year, he 
marrieS a woman of great beauty and noble birth, who, after 
bearing him seven children, and while still young, died a 
violent and mysterious death. Yery soon after, he married 
Lucrezia Strozzi, by whom he had no family. 

Count Francesco Cenci was a stranger to every redeeming 
virtue of the human heart. His whole life was spent in 
debauchery, and in the commission of crimes of the most un- 
speakable kind. He had several times incurred the penalty of 
death, but had purchased his pardon from the papal govern- 



BEATRICE CENCI. 157 

ment at the cost of a hundred thousand Roman crowns for each 
offence. As he advanced in years, he conceived a most impla- 
cable hatred towards his children. To get rid of his three 
eldest sons, he sent them to Spain, where he kept them without 
even the common necessaries of life. They contrived, how- 
ever, to return to Rome, and throw themselves at the feet of 
the Pope, who compelled their unnatural father to make them 
an allowance suitable to their rank. Their eldest sister, cruelly 
tortured at home, likewise succeeded, though with great diffi- 
culty, in making an appeal to the Pontiff, and was removed 
from her father's roof. She died a few years after. 

When these victims of Count Cenci's hatred were thus 
placed beyond his reach, the vindictive old man became almost 
frantic with passion. But his wife, his daughter Beatrice, his 
son Bernardino, and a boy still younger, were yet in his power ; 
and upon them he resolved to wreak his vengeance by the 
infliction of tenfold wretchedness. 

To prevent Beatrice from following her sister's example, he 
shut her up in a remote and unfrequented room of his palace, 
no longer the seat of princely magnificence and hospitality, but 
a gloomy and appalling solitude, the silence of which was never 
disturbed, except by shouts of loose revelry, or shrieks of 
despair. 

So long as Beatrice remained a child, her father treated her 
with extreme cruelty. But years sped on ; the ill-used child 
grew up into a woman of surpassing loveliness, and the hand 
raised to fell her to the earth, became gradually relaxed, and at 
last fell powerless. The soul of the stern father had melted 
before her matchless beauty, and his ferocious nature seemed 
subdued. But it was only the deceitful calm that precedes the 
tempest. 



158 BEATRICE CENCI. 

Just before this change took place, Beatrice's two brothers, 
Oristoforo and Vocio, were found murdered in the neighborhood 
of Eome. The crime was ascribed to banditti, but it was 
generally believed that a parent's hand had directed the assas- 
sin's dagger. Be that as it may, the wicked old Count refused 
the money necessary to bury his sons, alleging that he would 
wait until the other members of his hated family were cut off, 
and then spend the whole of his fortune in giving them all a 
magnificent funeral. 

Count Cenci's unusual mildness toward his daughter, seemed 
at first to have its origin in a redeeming virtue which had im- 
perceptibly stolen into his heart. Beatrice received the marks 
of his assumed kindness as a blessing of Providence ; they 
called forth the kindliest emotions of her nature, and her heart 
overflowed with gratitude. But the real cause of the Count's 
change of conduct was soon revealed. He had indeed been 
moved by his daughter's beauty, though not by paternal affec- 
tion. The wretched man had dared to contemplate the most 
unhallowed crime that ever blackened the annals of human 
depravity ; and when this became manifest to Beatrice, she 
shrank back in horror and affright, her features were convulsed 
with agony, and the most appalling thoughts shot through her 
brain. Now began that mental struggle which ended in the 
perversion of her nature, and led to the frightful catastrophe 
that ensued. Beatrice Cenci, though the most gentle and affec- 
tionate of her sex, had nevertheless a firm and energetic soul. 
With all the attributes of feminine loveliness, with endowments 
that rendered her the ornament of society, she had a resolute- 
ness of purpose, and an energy of courage, which nothing could 
shake. To this may be added a keen sense of injury. A 
mind of such a stamp, goaded by years of the most revolting 



BEATRICE CENCI. 159 

cruelty, and recently outraged by a loathsome and unutterable 
attempt, was the more likely, upon taking a wrong bias, to ad- 
vance recklessly on to crime. Beatrice was, besides, excited by 
a powerful and all-absorbing idea. Strongly imbued with the 
religious fanaticism of the age in which she lived, she imagined 
that, if her father persevered in his monstrous course, her soul 
would be forever contaminated, and both parent and child ex- 
cluded from eternal salvation. Hence despair fixed its fangs 
upon her heart, and smothered her better feelings. She at first 
contemplated the possibility of her father's death as the only 
chance of averting the threatened evil ; and as her mind be- 
came familiarized with this idea, she gradually brought herself 
to think that she was called upon, if not to anticipate the will 
of Providence, at least to act as its instrument. It is probable 
that her resolution was strengthened, by witnessing the cruelties 
daily inflicted upon her step-mother and her two youngest 
brothers. 

Ever since Count Cenci's hatred of Beatrice had yielded to 
a more atrocious sentiment, she had enjoyed greater freedom, 
and the fame of her beauty soon spread through Rome. Numer- 
ous suitors offered themselves to her notice ; but she beheld them 
all with indifference, except Monsignore Guerra, an intimate 
friend of Giacomo, her eldest brother. This young man was 
handsome, valiant, accomplished, and her equal in rank. He 
had entered the church, and was then a prelate ; but he intended 
to obtain a dispensation to marry, as Beatrice's grandfather had 
done. He loved Beatrice with the most devoted affection, which 
she as warmly returned. Count Cenci was jealous of all who 
approached his daughter, and the lovers could only converse in 
private when the Count was from home. For some months, he 
had seldom left his palace, and the cause of this sedentary life 



160 BEATRICE CENCI. 

was but too apparent, not only to Beatrice, but to the 
Countess. 

Lucrezia was a kind step-mother. There is a bond in the 
fellowship of suffering which begets affection, and Beatrice had 
always found sympathy and consolation in her father's wife. Into 
the bosom of the Countess she now poured the tale of her 
despair, forcibly directed her attention to the abyss upon the 
brink of which they all stood, and ultimately succeeded in mak- 
ing her mother-in-law a convert to her views and purposes. For 
the first time, perhaps, a wife and her step-daughter conspired 
the death of a husband and father. Trembling for their safety, 
and dreading the most fearful violence — led, moreover, by the 
superstitious fanaticism with which, in those days of blindness, 
Christianity was debased, to take a false view of futurity — two 
feeble women dared to conceive a crime that would have appalled 
the stoutest-hearted villain. 

The lover of Beatrice was made the depository of this dread- 
ful secret, and his assistance solicited. Gruerra loved his beautiful 
mistress too ardently to question the propriety of anything she 
resolved upon, and, as her blind slave, he readily assumed the 
management of the plot. Having first communicated the matter 
to Giacomo, and wrung from him a perhaps reluctant concur- 
rence, he next undertook to provide the murderers. These were 
soon found. The vassals of Count Cenci abhorred him as an 
insufferable tyrant ; among them were Marzio and Olimpio, both 
of whom burned with Italian vindictiveness and hatred of their 
feudal lord. Marzio, besides, madly and hopelessly loved Bea- 
trice. He was sent for to the Cenci palace, where, after a few 
gentle words from the syren, and the promise of a princely re- 
ward, he accepted the bloody mission ; and Olimpio was induced 
to join him, from a desire of avenging some personal wrongs. 



BEATRICE CENCI. 161 

The first plan fixed upon by the conspirators was one likely to 
escape detection ; nevertheless, from some cause now unknown, 
it was abandoned. Count Cenci intended spending a year at 
Hocca-di-Petrella, a castle situated among the Apulian Apen- 
nines. It belonged to his friend Marzio Colunna, who had placed 
it at his disposal. A number of banditti, posted in the woods 
near the castle, were to have attacked the Count on his way 
thither, seized his person, and demanded so heavy a ransom 
that he could not possibly have the sum with him. His sons 
were to propose fetching the money, and, after remaining some 
time absent, to return and declare that they had been unable to 
raise so large an amount. The Count was then to be put to 
death. 

The difficulties which arose to prevent the adoption of this 
plan, certainly oficring the best chances of escape from the con- 
sequences of the crime, are involved in obscurity ; but the hand 
of Providence is here apparent. The murder was adjourned to 
some more convenient opportunity, and Count Cenci set out with 
his wife, his daughter, and his two youngest sons, for Rocca-di- 
Petrella. 

It raises feelings of horror and disgust, as we follow this family 
party in their slow progress across the Pontine marshes, medi- 
tating against each other, as they journeyed on, crimes the most 
revolting to human nature. They moved forward like a funeral 
procession. On reaching Kocca-di-Petrella, the Count imme- 
diately began to carry his designs against Beatrice into exe- 
cution. 

Day after day, the most violent scenes took place, and they 
but strengthened Beatrice in her desperate resolution. At 
length she could hold out no longer ; and the rage of madness 
took possession of her mind. One day — it was the 4th of 



162 BEATRICE CENCI. 

September, 1598 — after a most trying interview with her father, 
she threw herself, in an agony of horror, into the arms of Lu- 
crezia, and exclaimed in a hoarse, broken voice, — 

" We can delay no longer — he must die !" 

An express was that instant dispatched to Monsignore Gruerra ; 
the murderers received immediate instructions, and on the even- 
ing of the 8th, reached Rocca-di-Petrella. Beatrice turned 
pale on hearing the signal which announced their arrival. 

" This is the Nativity of the Virgin," said she to the Coun- 
tess — " we must wait till to-morrow ; for why should we commit 
a double crime ?" 

Thus was a most heinous offence, no less than the murder of 
a father and a husband, deferred, because the Church prohibited 
all kind of work on the day of the Virgin Mary's nativity. 
Such were the feelings of these two women ; and such, I may 
safely aver, were the feelings of every desperate villain in Italy, 
at that period. Even Francesco Cenci, whose atrocities have 
found no parallel in ancient or modern times, built a chapel and 
established masses for the repose of his soul. Eeligion was no 
check — it was only a refuge or sanctuary against punishment ; 
and it served but to convince the dying criminal who had 
strictly observed its outward forms, of his certain passport to 
heaven. 

On the following evening, Beatrice and Lucrezia administered 
an opiate to Count Cenci of sufficient strength to prevent him 
from defending his life. A short time after he had taken it, he 
fell into a heavy sleep. 

When all was silent in the castle, the murderers were ad- 
mitted by Beatrice, who conducted them into a long gallery, 
leading to the Count's bed-room. The women were soon left 
to themselves ; and strong as was their determination, and deep 



BEATRICE CENCI. 163 

the sense of their wrongs, this moment must have been appalling 
to both. They listened in breathless anxiety — not a sound was 
audible. At length the door of the Count's room was opened, 
and the murderers rushed out horror-stricken. 

'' Oh Grod !'.' said Marzio, in dreadful agitation, " I cannot 
kill that old man. His peaceful sleep — his venerable white 
locks — Oh ! I cannot do it !" 

The cheeks of Beatrice became of an ashy paleness, and she 
trembled with anger. Her eyes flashed with fury, as her color 
returned, and the passions which shook her whole frame served 
but to give additional lustre to her beauty. 

" Coward !" she exclaimed with bitterness, seizing Marzio by 
the arm ; '' thy valor lies only in words. Base murderer ! thou 
hast sold thy soul to the devil, and yet thou lackest energy to 
fulfill thy hellish contract. Return to that room, vile slave, and 
do thy duty ; or, by the seven pains of our Lady — " and as 
she said this, she drew a dagger from under the folds of her 
dress — '' thy dastardly soul shall go prematurely to its long ac- 
count." 

The men shrank beneath the scowl of this girl. Completely 
abashed, they returned to their work of death, followed by 
Beatrice and Lucrezia. The Count had not been disturbed 
from his sleep. His head appeared above the coverlid ; it was 
surrounded by flowing white hair, which, reflecting the moon- 
beams as they fell upon it through the large painted window, 
formed a silvery halo round his brow. Marzio shuddered as he 
approached the bed — the passage from sleep to eternity was 
brief. 

The crime being consummated, Beatrice herself paid the 
promised reward, and presented Marzio with a cloak richly 
trimmed with gold lace. The murderers immediately left the 



164 BEATRICE CENCI. 

castle through a ruined postern long out of use, and partly 
walled up. 

Beatrice and Lucrezia then returned to the murdered Count, 
and drawing the weapon from the wound — for the old man had 
been deprived of life by means of a long and sharply-pointed 
piece of iron, driven into the brain through the corner of the 
right eye — clothed .the body in a dressing-gown, and dragging 
it to the further end of the gallery, precipitated it from a win- 
dow then under repair, the balcony of which had been taken 
down. Beneath stood a huge mulberry-tree with strong and 
luxuriant branches, which so dreadfully mutilated the corpse in 
its fall, that, when found in the morning, it presented every ap- 
pearance of accidental death. It is probable that no suspicion 
would ever have been excited, had not Beatrice, with strict in- 
junctions to secrecy, given the blood-stained sheets and coverlid 
to a woman of the village for the purpose of being washed. 

Rocca-di-Petrella being situated in the Neapolitan territory, 
the Court of Naples received the first intimation of the suspected 
crime. An inquiry was immediately set on foot ; but, notwith- 
standing every search, the deposition of the woman who had 
washed the bed-clothes was the only evidence that could be 
obtained. 

Meantime, Griacomo had assumed the title of Count Cenci ; 
and his step-mother and sister, accompanied by Bernardino — 
for the youngest boy had died soon after the murder — had 
quitted Bocca-di-Petrella, and taken up their abode at the 
Cenci palace, there to enjoy the few peaceful months which 
Providence allowed to intervene betwixt the crime and its pun- 
ishment. Here they received the first intelligence of the in- 
quiry instituted by the Neapolitan Grovernment ; and they 
trembled at the thought of being betrayed by their accomplices. 



BEATRICE CENCI. 165 

Monsignore Gruerra, equally interested in the concealment of 
the crime, resolved to make sure of the discretion of Marzio and 
Olimpio, and hired a bravo to dispatch them. Olimpio was ac- 
cordingly murdered near Turin ; but Marzio, being arrested at 
Naples for a fresh crime, declared himself guilty of Count 
Cenci's death, and had related every particular. This new 
evidence being instantly forwarded to the papal government 
by that of Naples, Beatrice and Lucrezia were put under arrest 
in the Cenci palace, and Giacomo and Bernardino imprisoned 
at Corte-Savella. Marzio was soon after brought to Bome and 
confronted with the members of the Cenci family. But when 
he beheld that Beatrice, whom he so fondly loved, standing be- 
fore him as a prisoner — her fate hanging upon the words he 
should utter — he retracted his confession, and boldly declared 
that his former statement at Naples was totally false. He was 
put to the most cruel torture ; but he persisted in his denial, 
and expired upon the rack. 

The Cenci now seemed absolved from the accusation. But 
the murderer of Olimpio being arrested, as Marzio had been, 
for a different oifence, voluntarily accused himself of this mur- 
der, which he had perpetrated, he said, in obedience to the 
commands of Monsignore Gucrra. As Olimpio had also made 
some disclosures before he died, the confession of his assassin 
was considered so conclusive, that the whole of the prisoners 
were conveyed to the castle of St. Angelo. Guerra, seriously 
alarmed at the declaration of the bravo, fled from Bome in dis- 
guise, and, after encountering many perils, succeeded in leaving 
Italy. His flight was a confirmation of the evidence, and pro- 
ceeding against the Cenci family were immediately commenced. 

Criminal process in those days, as in the two succeeding cen- 
turies, was the more application of physical torture to extort an 



166 BEATRICE CENCI. 

avowal of the crime imputed ; for the law had humanely pro- 
vided that no criminal could be convicted but upon his own 
confession. The rack was, therefore, termed the question^ and 
was, in fact, the only form of interrogatory. Thus, if an ac- 
cused was innocent, and had the energy of soul to brave the 
torture, he must bear it till he died ; but if nature was subdued 
by pain, he accused himself falsely, and was put to death on 
the scaffold. Such was the justice administered by men calling 
themselves Christian prelates ! 

The question was applied to the Cenci. Lucrezia, Giacomo, 
and Bernardino, unable to bear the agony, made a full confession ; 
but Beatrice strenuously persisted in the denial of the murder. 
Her beautiful limbs were torn by the instruments of torture ; 
but by her eloquence and address she completely foiled the tri- 
bunal. The judges were greatly embarrassed — they dared not 
pronounce judgment, and their president, Ulisse Moscatino, re- 
ported the state of the proceedings to the Pope, then Clement 
YIII. 

The Pontiff, fearing that Moscatino had been touched by the 
extreme beauty of Beatrice, appointed a new president, and the 
question was again applied. The unhappy girl bore the most 
intense agony without flinching ; nothing could be elicited from 
her but a denial of the crime with which she was charged. At 
length the judges ordered her hair to be cut off. This last in- 
dignity broke her spirit, and her resolution gave way. She now 
declared that she was ready to confess, but only in the presence 
of her family. Lucrezia and Griacomo were immediately intro- 
duced ; and when they saw her stretched upon the rack, pale 
and exhausted, her delicate limbs mangled and bleeding, they 
threw themselves beside her, and wept bitterly. 

'' Dear sister !" said Griacomo, '' we committed the crime, and 



BEATRICE CENCI. 167 

have confessed it. There is now no further use in your allowing 
yourself to be so cruelly tortured." 

'' It is not of sufferings such as these, that we ought to com- 
plain," Beatrice replied, in a faint voice. '' I felt much greater 
anguish on the day I first saw a foul stain cast upon our ancient 
and honorable house. As you must die, would it not have been 
better to have died under the most acute tortures, than to endure 
the disgrace of a public execution !" 

This idea threw her into strong convulsions. She soon, how- 
ever, recovered, and thus resumed — " God's will be done ! It 
is your wish that I should confess — well ! be it so." Then turn- 
ing to the tribunal, " Read me," said she, " the confession of 
my family, cud I will add what is necessary." 

She was now unbound, and the whole proceedings read to her. 
She, however, signed the confession without adding a word. 

The four prisoners were now conveyed to Corte-Savella, where 
a room had been prepared for their reception. Here they were 
allowed to dine together, and in the evening the two brothers 
were removed to the prison of Tardinova. 

The Pope condemned the Cenci to be dragged through the 
streets of Eome by wild horses. This was a cruel sentence — 
more especially as it emanated from the head of the Catholic 
Church, and was quite arbitrary. The prelates and Roman 
nobility were struck with pity and indignation. A species of 
sophistry which did much more honor to their humanity than to 
their judgment, led them to urge in extenuation, nay, almost in 
justification of the crime, the provocation received, and the series 
of monstrous attrocitics committed by the late Count Cenci. 
They made the most energetic remonstrances to the Pope, who, 
much against his will, granted a respite of three days and a 
hearing by counsel. 



168 BEATRICE CENCI. 

The most celebrated advocates at Rome offered their services 
on this occasion, and Nicolo di Angeli, the most eloquent among 
them, pleaded the cause of the Cenci so powerfully, that Cle- 
ment was roused to anger. 

'' What !" he exclaimed indignantly, '^ shall children murder 
their parent, and a Christian advocate attempt to justify such a 
crime, before the Head of the Church ?" 

The counsel were intimidated ; but Farinacci, another advo- 
cate, rose and addressing the Pope — 

" Holy Father !" said he, with firmness, '' we come not hither 
to employ our talents in making so odious a crime appear a 
virtue, but to defend the innocent, if it please your Holiness to 
give us a hearing." 

The Pope made no reply, but listened to Farinacci with great 
patience, during four hours. He then dismissed the advocates, 
and withdrew with Cardinal Marcello, to reconsider the case. 

Doubtless, the parricide can find no extenuation of his crime ; 
nevertheless the circumstances between Beatrice and her father 
were so monstrous — the latter was such a fiend upon earth, and 
each of the prisoners had been so cruelly tortured by him, that 
the Pope determined to mitigate the severity of his sentence. 
He was about to commute it into imprisonment for life, when 
news reached Rome that the princess Costanza di Santa-Croce 
had been murdered at Subiaco by her son, because she had re- 
fused to make a will in his favor. This event again roused 
Clement's severity, and on the 10th of September, 1599, he 
directed Monsignore Taberna, governor of Rome, to resume 
proceedings against the Cenci, and let the law take its course. 

The whole family were to be publicly beheaded in three days. 
Farinacci again came forward and pleaded the cause of Bernar- 
dino, who had not been an accomplice or even privy to the I 



BEATRICE CENCI. 169 

crime, and succeeded in obtaining his pardon ; but on the horri- 
ble condition that he should attend the execution of the others. 

The day before the execution, at five o'clock in the afternoon, 
the ministers of justice arrived at Corte-Savella, to read the 
sentence of the law to the wife and daughter of the murdered 
Count Cenci. Beatrice was in a sound sleep ; the judges sur- 
rounded her in silence, and the solemn voice of the segretario 
roused her from her last slumber in this world. 

The idea of a public exposure upon the scaffold threw her into 
an agony of grief; but her mind soon recovered its tone, and 
she calmly prepared for death. 

She began by making her will, in which she directed that her 
body should be buried in the church of San-Pie tro in Montorio. 
She bequeathed three hundred Roman crowns to the congrega- 
tion of the Sante-Piaghe, and her own dower as a marriage 
portion to fifty portionless girls. 

There is a strange serenity in this contemplation of conjugal 
life from the brink of the grave, especially by a young girl about 
to expiate, on the scaffold, the murder of her father. But the 
history of Beatrice Cenci is still involved in mystery, and it is 
therefore difficult to trace the workings of her mind. 

" Now," said she to Lucrezia, " let us prepare to meet death 
with decency." 

The fatal hour struck, and the nuns of the congregation of 
the Sette-Dolori came to conduct the prisoners to the place of 
death. They found Beatrice at prayers, but firm and reso- 
lute. 

IMeauwhilc, her two brothers had left Tardinova, escorted by 
the congregation of Penitents. The celebrated picture of Piety, 
presented by Michael Angelo for the sole use of dying criminals, 
was borne before them. They were thus taken before a judge. 



170 BEATRICECENCI. 

who, after reading Giacomo's sentence to him, turned to Bernar- 
dino, — 

" Signor Cenci," he said, " our most Holj Father grants you 
your life. Return thanks for his clemency. You are condemned 
to proceed to the place of execution^ and witness the death of your 
family .'" 

The moment the judge had done speaking, the Penitents struck 
up a hymn of thanksgiving, and withdrew the picture from be- 
fore Bernardino, who was now placed in a separate cart, and the 
procession again moved forward. During the whole of the 
route, Giacomo was tortured with red-hot pincers. He bore the 
pain with marvelous fortitude — not a sigh escaped him. 

They stopped at the gate of Corte-Savella to take Beatrice 
and Lucrezia, who came forth covered with their veils. That 
of Beatrice was of gray muslin, embroidered with silver. She 
wore a purple petticoat, white shoes, and a very high dress of 
gray silk, with wide sleeves, which she had made during the 
night. Both held a crucifix in one hand and a white pocket 
handkerchief in the other ; for though their arms were lightly 
bound with cords, their hands were perfectly free. Beatrice 
had just entered her twentieth year — never had she appeared 
more lovely. There was, in her suffering countenance, an ex- 
pression of resignation and fortitude, a calmness of religious 
hope, that drew tears from the spectators. She kept up her 
step-mother's courage, as they proceeded, and whenever they 
passed a church or a Madonna, she prayed aloud with great 
fervency. 

On reaching the Ponte St. Angelo, near which the scaffold 
was erected, the prisoners were placed in a small temporary 
chapel prepared for them, where they spent a short time in 
prayer. Giacomo, though the last executed, was the first to 



BEATRICE CENCI. 171 

ascend the scaffold, and Bernardino was placed by his side. 
The unhappy youth fainted, and was firmly bound to a chair. 
Beatrice and Lucrezia were then led forth from the chapel. 
An immense concourse of people had assembled, and each 
bosom throbbed with painful interest. 

At this moment three guns were fired from the castle of 
St. Angelo. It was a signal to inform the Pope that the prison- 
ers were ready for execution. On hearing it, Clement became 
agitated, and wept ; then falling on his knees, he gave the 
Cenci full absolution, which was communicated to them in his 
name. The assembled spectators knelt, and prayed aloud ; and 
thousands of hands were lifted up in deprecation of God's wrath 
upon the blood-stained criminals about to appear before his 
eternal throne. 

Lucrezia was the first led forward for execution. The 
minister of the law stripped her to the waist. The unfortunate 
woman trembled excessively — not indeed from fear, but from 
the gross violation of decency, in thus exposing her to the gaze 
of the multitude. 

"Great God!" she cried, "spare me this. Oh! mercy, 
mercy !" 

The particulars of Lucrezia's execution are disgusting and 
horrible ; for the sake of human nature, such atrocities should 
be buried in eternal silence. When her head fell, it made three 
bounds, as if appealing against such cruelty. The bojay after hold- 
ing it up to the terrified spectators, covered it with a silk veil, 
and placed it in the cofiin with her body. He then reset the axe 
for Beatrice, who was on her knees in fervent prayer. Having 
prepared the instrument of death, he rudely seized her arm, with 
hands besmeared with the blood of her step-mother. She in- 
stantly arose, and said, in a firm and strongly accentuated voice : 



172 BEATRICE CENCI. 

" my divine Saviour, who didst die upon the cross for me 
and for all mankind ; grant, I beseech thee, that one drop of 
thy precious blood may insure my salvation, and that, guilty as 
I am, thou wilt admit me into thy heavenly paradise." 

Then presenting her arms for the loja to bind them, — 

" Thou art about," she said, " to bind my body for its 
punishment ; mayest thou likewise unbind my soul for its eter- 
nal salvation !" 

She walked to the block with a firm step, and, as she knelt, 
took every precaution that female delicacy could suggest ; then 
calmly laying down her head, it was severed by a single stroke. 

Bernardino was two years younger than his sister Beatrice, 
whom he tenderly loved. When he saw her head roll upon the 
scaffold, he again fainted. But cruelty is ever active ; and he 
was recalled to life, that he might witness the death of his 
brother. 

Griacomo was covered with a mourning cloak. Upon its re- 
moval, a cry of horror issued from the spectators, at the sight 
of his mangled and bleeding body. He approached Ber- 
nardino — 

^' Dear brother," said he, ^^ if, on the rack, I said anything 
to criminate you, it was drawn from me by the intense agony I 
endured ; and, although I have already contradicted it, I here 
solemnly declare that you are entirely innocent, and that your 
being brought hither to witness our execution, is a wanton and 
atrocious piece of cruelty. Pardon me, my brother, and pray 
for us all." 

He then knelt upon the scaffold, and began to pray. The 
loja placed a bandage over his eyes, and struck him a violent 
blow across the right temple, with a bar of iron. He fell with- 
out a groan, and his body was divided into four parts. 



BEATRICE CENCI. 173 

The congregation of Sante-Piaghe conveyed Bernardino back 
to his prison, where, during four days, he remained in dreadful 
convulsions ; and for a long time after both his reason and his 
life were despaired of. The bodies of Beatrice and Lucrezia, 
together with the severed quarters of Giacomo, were exposed 
till the evening, at the foot of Saint Paul's statue, on the Ponte 
St. Angelo. The congregations then took them away. The 
body of Beatrice was received by venerable matrons, who, after 
washing and perfuming it, clothed it in white, and surrounded it 
with flowers, consecrated candles, and vases of incense. It was 
ultimately placed in a magnificent coffin, conveyed to the 
church of San Pietro in Montorio, by the light of more than five 
hundred torches, and there buried, at the foot of the great 
altar, under the celebrated transfiguration by Baphael. 

Bernardino was the only survivor of this unhappy family, and 
the last male heir of his race. He married a Bologuetti, and 
left an only daughter, who changed the name of the Cenci 
palace ; and from this marriage, the building came into the 
possession of the Bologuetti family, to whom it still belongs. 

The old Cenci palace is in the most gloomy and obscure 
quarter of Rome. Its massive and sullen architecture, and its 
neglected and deserted appearance, accord perfectly with: the 
tragical associations connected with it. One window, which is 
fronted with an open-work balcony, may have belonged to the 
very chamber of Beatrice ; and a dark and lofty archway, built 
of immense stones, may have been that through which she went 
out to the prison which she left only for the scaffold. 

In the old Barbcrini palace is Guide's portrait of Beatrice, 
taken, according to the family tradition, on the night before her 
execution. Shclly's tragedy lias made her sad story familiar to 
English readers, and his description of tliis picture leaves 



174 BEATRICE CENCI. 

nothing to be added ; tliough no words, nor even copies, can 
give any idea of her touching loveliness, her expression of 
patient suffering, her quivering, half-parted lips, and tender 
hazel eyes of a beauty unattained on any other canvas in the 
world ; but her half-turned head, with its golden locks escaping 
from the folds of its white drapery, haunts your memory, as if 
you, too, like Guido, had caught a last glimpse of her as she 
mounted the scaffold. 



a J) if| S J e y if|. 



All BOJ.BYI. 

When the sister of Henry VIII., a young and blooming girl 
of sixteen, arrived in France to wed Louis XII., a monarch old 
enough to be her grandfather, she was attended by several 
young ladies belonging to the noblest families of England. 
Among them was Ann Boleyn, celebrated not only by her mis- 
fortunes and untimely end, but on account of her being the 
immediate cause of the reformation, or establishment of the 
Protestant religion in England. Hers is an eventful history. 

Ann was the daughter of Sir Thomas Boleyn, a gentleman 
allied to the noblest houses in the kingdom. His mother was 
of the house of Ormond, and his grandfather, when mayor of 
London, had married one of the daughters of Lord Hastings. 
Lady Boleyn, Ann's mother, was a daughter of the Duke of 
Norfolk. Sir Thomas Boleyn being a man of talent, had been 
employed by the king in several diplomatic missions, which he 
had successfully executed. When the Princess Mary left 
England to wear, for three short months, the crown of Queen 
Consort of France, Ann was very young ; she therefore finished 
her education at the French Court, where her beauty and ac- 
complishments were highly valued. After the death of Louis 
XII., his young widow having married Brandon, Duke of Suf- 
folk, and retui'ned to England, Ann entered the service of 
Claude, wife of Francis I. On the death of this queen, she 
had an appointment in the household of the Duchess of Alen- 



178 ANN BOLEYN. 



9on, a very distinguislied princess ; but she retained it only a 
few months, and then returned to her native country. 

The precise period of her arrival in England is not accurately 
known ; but it was a fatal day for Catherine of Arragon, to 
whom she was soon after appointed maid of honor. In this 
situation she had frequent opportunities of conversing with the 
king ; he was not proof against her fascinations, and became 
deeply enamored of her. But Henry's was the love of the sen- 
sualist — its only aim was self-gratification — and wherever it fell, 
it withered or destroyed. 

Until Henry beheld Ann Boleyn, he had never expressed 
any dissatisfaction at his marriage with Catherine. On a 
sudden he conceived scruples with regard to this union. It 
was monstrous — it was incestuous, he said ; and he could not 
reconcile it to his conscience to consider his brother's widow 
any longer his wife. It is true, that Catherine had gone 
through a ceremony at the altar, with Arthur, Prince of Wales, 
Henry's elder brother ; but the prince had died soon after, 
being then only seventeen years of age. And when political 
reasons subsequently led to the marriage between Catherine and 
Henry, the new Prince of Wales felt no scruples — nay, his 
conscience slumbered twenty years before it was awakened to a 
sense of the enormity which now afflicted him. 

But awakened at length it was ; and it appeared to him 
under the form of a young girl beaming with beauty, wit, and 
loveliness. The conversation and manners of Ann Boleyn had a 
peculiar charm, which threw all the other English ladies into 
the shade. She had acquired it at the most polished and 
elegant, but perhaps the most licentious, court in Europe ; and 
when Henry, fascinated by her wit, gazed with rapture on her 
fair form — when he listened with intense delight to her thought- 



ANN BOLEYN. 179 



less sallies, and madly loved on, little did she think that, while 
her conduct was pure, this very thoughtlessness of speech would 
one day be expiated by a public and disgraceful death. 

Ann refused to become the king's mistress ; for she very 
justly thought, that the more elevated dishonor is, the more 
clearly it is perceived. 

'' My birth is noble enough," she said, '' to entitle me to 
become your wife. If it be true, as you assert, that your mar- 
riage with the queen is incestuous, let a divorce be publicly pro- 
nounced, and I am yours." 

This sealed the fate of Catherine of Arragon. Henry imme- 
diately directed Cardinal Wolsey, his prime minister and 
favorite, to write to Kome, and obtain a brief from the Pope, 
annulling his marriage. Knight, the king's secretary, v^^as like- 
wise dispatched thither to hasten the conclusion of this business. 

Clement YII. then filled the pontiff's throne. Timid and 
irresolute, he dreaded the anger of the Emperor Charles Y., 
Catherine's nephew, who kept him almost a prisoner, and would 
naturally avenge any insult offered to his aunt. Clement, 
therefore, eluded giving a definitive answer. But being pressed 
by the King of France, who was the more ready, from his 
hatred of the emperor, to advocate Henry's cause on this occa- 
sion, the Pope at length consented to acknowledge that Julius 
II. had no power to issue a bull authorizing Catherine's marriage 
with her brother-in-law. This declaration was a serious attack 
upon the infallibihty of the popes ; but Clement's situation was 
perilous, and the only chance he had of freeing himself from 
the thraldom of Charles Y. was by conciliating the King's of 
England and France. But, on the other hand, he was anxious 
to bring about the re-establishment of his house at Florence, 
which he thought the emperor alone could effect. Moreover, 



180 ANN BOLEYN. 



Charles had a large army in Italy, constantly threatening Rome. 
The pontiff had likewise some other grounds of alarm. It is 
known that illegitimate children are excluded from the papal 
throne, and Clement was the natural son of Julian de Medicis ; 
for though, if we believe the authority of Leo X., a promise of 
marriage had existed between his parents, it did not efface the 
stain. Nor was this all : in defiance of the severe laws of 
Julius II. against simony, Clement had been guilty of that 
crime, and Cardinal Colonna had a note of hand in his posses- 
sion, subscribed by the Pope, and applied to facilitate his ac- 
cession to the chair of St. Peter. The emperor was aware of 
both these facts ; and taking advantage of Clement's timidity of 
character, constantly threatened to assemble a general council 
and have him deposed. 

Thus was the pontiff urged to opposite acts by the rival 
monarchs ; and his struggle between such contending interests 
led to that long ambiguity of conduct and ultimate decision 
which severed England from the Church of Rome. 

Meanwhile, a secret marriage, it is said, had taken place 
between Henry YIII. and Ann Boleyn ; and what seems to 
confirm this, is the activity Ann displayed in pressing Cardinal 
Wolsey, and Stephen Gardiner, his secretary, to bring the 
divorce to a conclusion. The following is a letter which she 
wrote to the cardinal, at a time when a contagious disease raged 
in London, and she had retired to a country residence with the 
king. It is a good specimen of her mind and character : — 

" My Lord, 
" In my most humblest wise that my heart can think, I 
desire you to pardon me that I am so bold to trouble you with 
my simple and rude writing, esteeming it to proceed from her 



ANN BOLEYN. 181 



that is much desirous to know that your grace does well, as I 
perceive by this bearer that you do. The which I pray Grod 
long to continue, as I am most bound to pray ; for I do know 
the great pains and troubles that you have taken for me both 
day and night, is never like to be recompensed on my part, but 
alonely in loving you next unto the king's grace, above all 
creatures living. And I do not doubt but the daily proofs of 
my deeds shall manifestly declare and affirm my writing to be 
true, and I do trust that you do think the same. My Lord, I 
do assure you I do long to hear from you news of the legate ; 
for I do hope and they come from you they shall be very good ; 
and I am sure you desire it as much as I, and more, and it 
were possible, as I know it is not ; and thus remaining in a 
steadfast hope, I make an end of my letter, written with the 
hand of her that is bound to be, 

'' Your humble servant, 

" Ann Boleyn." 

Underneath the King had added z — 

" The writer of this letter would not cease till she had caused 
me likewise to set my hand ; desiring you, though it be short, to 
take it in good part. T insure you there is neither of us but 
that greatly desireth to see you, and much more joyous to hear 
that you have escaped this plague so well, trusting the fury 
thereof to be passed, specially with them that keepcth good 
diet, as I trust you do. The not hearing of the legate's arrival 
in France, causeth us somewhat to muse ; notwithstanding, we 
trust, by your diligence and vigilancy (with the assistance of 
Almighty God) shortly to be eased out of that trouble. No 
more to you at this time ; but that I pray God send you as good 
health and prosperity as the writer would. By your 

" Loving Sovereign and Friend, Henry K." 



182 ANN BOLEYN. 



Though the king had fled from the contagion with Ann 
Boleyn, he had given no orders to enable Catherine to leave 
London ; and she remained there exposed to the danger of the 
plague. No doubt the possibility of her death had occurred to 
Henry's mind, and the reckless attrocity of his character may 
justify the inference , that he had left her in London for the 
express purpose of exposing her to die of the disease, and thus 
at once settling the divorce question. 

Just as the Pope's brief for the divorce was about to be issued, 
the sacking of Rome took place, and the Pontiff remained dur- 
ing a whole year imprisoned in the castle of St. Angelo. On 
being set at liberty by the Emperor, he was afraid to pronounce 
the dishonor of Charles's aunt, whose complaints resounded 
throughout Europe. At length, to temporize with all parties, 
and not lose sight of his own interest, he appointed Cardinal 
Campeggio, his legate in England, for the purpose of trying the 
question, but gave him secret orders to proceed as slowly as pos- 
sible. The new legate was old and afflicted with gout, severe 
attacks of which were his ever-ready excuse for procrastination ; 
and it took him ten months to travel from Rome to London. 

Ann Boleyn, on hearing that the legate was at last on his way 
to England, again wrote to Wolsey, expressing her gratitude in 
strong terms. 

^' And as for the coming of the legate," she said, in this 
letter, '^ I desire that much, and if it be God's pleasure, I pray 
him to send this matter shortly to a good end, and then I trust, 
my lord, to recompense part of your great pains. In the which 
I must require you in the meantime to accept my good will, in 
the stead of the power, the which must proceed partly from 
you, as our Lord knoweth ; to whom I beseech to send you 
long life, with continuance in honor." 



ANN BOLEYN. 183 



But Catherine was by no means so grateful as Ann for the 
pains that Wolsey took to constitute an arbitrary and iniquitous 
tribunal, and she called him a heretic and abettor of adultery. 
This the cardinal-minister little heeded, for he had the king 
and the king's mistress on his side ; and the host of flatterers by 
whom he was surrounded made him believe that his power was 
too firmly established ever to be shaken. 

Wolsey had greatly contributed to bring about Henry's con- 
nection with Ann Boleyn, because he thought that such a pas- 
sion would absorb the king's time, and make him careless of 
business, by which the minister would become master of the 
kingdom. Queen Catherine, with her oratory, her rosary, and 
her religious austerity, was not the queen that suited Wolsey's 
views. She had nothing to attract the king from the cares and 
business of his kingdom. Ann Boleyn, on the contrary, was a 
creature formed of love ; she was always gay, happy, and en- 
dearing when in Henry's company. The king, therefore, over- 
come by a fascination which he could not resist, bent his neck 
to her yoke, and left the governance of his dominions in the 
hands of his ambitious minister. 

When once the flowery chain had encircled Henry, Wolsey 
little cared whether it was sanctified or not by religion. In his 
corrupt mind, he perhaps thought it might be more durable, if 
it did not obtain the sanction of the Church. But he at length 
received the Pope's commission, and Campeggio arrived in Eng- 
land ; he, therefore, took his measures with the legate, and they 
opened their tribunal. To keep up an appearance of propriety, 
Ann immediately left London. 

The two cardinals, having opened their court in London, cited 
tlie king and queen to appear before them. ]3oth obeyed ; and 
when Henry's name was called, he rose and answered to it. 



184 ANN BOLEYN. 



The queen was dressed in mourning ; her countenance was calm, 
though it but ill disguised the anguish of her mind. When the 
legate pronounced the words " Most high, most powerful, and 
most illustrious Lady and Princess," Catherine, without looking 
at him, or making any reply, rose and threw herself at the king's 
feet, embracing his knees, and suffusing them with her tears. 
She urged, she entreated, she conjured him by all that is most 
sacred to man, not to cast her off ; but she sought in vain to 
soften a heart absorbed by love for another. She did not, how- 
ever, thus humble herself for her own sake ; she was supplicating 
for her daughter, whom the decision of the legates might stamp 
with illegitimacy and dishonor. 

'' Sir," said she, " what is this tribunal ? Have you convoked 
it to try me ? And wherefore } Have I committed any crime ? 
No : I am innocent, and you alone have authority over me. 
You are my only support, my sole protector. I am but a poor 
weak woman, alone, defenceless, and ready to fall under the 
attacks of my enemies. When I left my family and my coun- 
try, it was because I relied on English good faith ; and now, in 
this foreign land, am I cut off from my friends and kindred, and 
deserted by those who once basked in the sunshine of my favor. 
I have, and desire to have, none but you for my support and 
protection — you, and your honor. Henry, do you wish to de- 
stroy your daughter's fame ? Consider, she is your first-born ! 
And would you suffer her to be disgraced, when I, her mother, 
am innocent, and you, her father, a powerful sovereign ?^^ 

She then arose from her kneeling posture, and looking at the 
court with dignity — 

" Is this the tribunal," said she, '' that would try a Queen of 
England.^ It consists of none but enemies, and not a single 
judge. They cannot pronounce an equitable judgment ; I 



ANN BOLEYN. 185 



therefore decline their jurisdiction, and must be excused from 
heeding any further citations in this matter, until I hear from 
Spain." 

Haying made a profound obeisance to the king, she left the 
court. After her departure, the king protested he had no cause 
of complaint against her, and that remorse of conscience was his 
only reason for demanding a divorce. 

The legates again cited the queen ; and as she refused to ap- 
pear, they declared her contumacious. There was a solemn 
mockery in the whole of these iniquitous proceedings, that ren- 
dered them frightful. At length they were drawing to a close ; 
for Ann Boleyn, who had returned to London, was urging Wol- 
sey forward with the full power of her charms, and the cardinal 
was by no means insensible to her flatteries. But when Henry 
was every moment expecting the judgment which would allow 
him to have Ann crowned, Cardinal Campeggio announced that 
the Pope had reserved to himself the ultimate examination of 
the case, which he had evoked to Rome before his own tribunal. 

Henry at first raved and blasphemed, denouncing vengeance 
against the pontiff; but he soon became calmer, and set about 
finding a means of overcoming this new obstacle, and hurling 
his own thunders in defiance of those of the church. Ann wept 
bitterly at finding herself as far from the throne as ever. But 
how powerful were her tears ! Henry vowed he would avenge 
each of them with an ocean of blood. Then it was that he 
threw off his allegiance to the Church of Borne, and ultimately 
united both Church and State under his sole governance. 

Meanwhile, Ann's harassed mind thirsted for vengeance upon 
some one, for the annihilation of her hopes. She saw not yet 
the means of destroying the barrier wliich now stood betwixt 
her and the throne ; and she had need of a victim. She found 



186 ANN BOLEYN. 



one in Cardinal Wolsey. It appeared to her unlikely that this 
man, influential as he was in the college of cardinals — for his 
hand had once touched the tiara — should require months and 
years to do that which he might have finished in a single day. 
Henry was not a man who required to be told, a second time, 
not to love : Wolsey had been his favorite, and this was more 
than sufficient to effect his ruin ; for the king's friendship, like 
his love, proved a withering curse wherever it fell. 

Wolsey gave an entertainment at York House, a palace which 
the most magnificent monarchs of Europe and Asia might have 
looked upon with envious admiration. There he sat, free from 
care, and joyously wearing away life, quaffing the choicest 
wines of Italy and France in cups of gold enchased with jewels 
and precious enamels. Richly sculptured bufiets were loaded 
with dishes of massive gold, sparkling with precious gems. A 
hundred servants wearing their master's arms emblazoned on 
their liveries, circulated round the vast and fantastically sumptu- 
ous hall. Young girls, crowned with flowers, burned perfumes 
and embalmed the air, whilst in an upper gallery a band of the 
most skillful musicians of Italy and Germany produced a ravish- 
ing and voluptuous harmony. 

Suddenly two men stood before the cardinal. Both were 
powerful in the kingdom ; and on their appearance, the upstart 
minister was for a moment awed into respect. One was the 
Duke of Suffolk, the king's brother-in-law — the other was the 
Duke of Norfolk. They had come with orders from the king to 
demand the great seal from Wolsey. 

" I will not deliver it up on a mere verbal order," replied 
the haughty priest. 

The two noblemen withdrew, and returned on the following 
day with a letter from the king. Wolsey then delivered the 



ANN BOLEYN. 187 



seal into their hands, and it was given to Sir Thomas More. 
Soon after, York House, now Whitehall, together with all the 
costly furniture it contained, was seized in the name of the 
king. 

The fallen cardinal was ordered to retire to Asher, a country- 
seat he possessed near Hampton Court. He was pitied by 
nobody ; for the manner in which he had borne his honors, and 
the general meanness of his conduct, had rendered him ex- 
tremely unpopular. He wept like a child at his disgrace, and 
the least appearance of a return to favor threw him into rap- 
tures. One day, Henry sent him a kind message, with a ring 
in token of regard. The cardinal was on horseback when he 
met the king's messenger ; he immediately alighted, and falling 
on his knees in the mud, kissed the ring with tears in his eyes. 

This was hypocrisy of the meanest kind ; for it was impossible 
he could have loved Henry VIII. 

After the fall of Wolsey, a chance-remark make by Dr. 
Thomas Cranmer, Fellow of Jesus College, Cambridge, gave 
the king his cue as to the line of conduct he should adopt. 

" Oh !" cried Henry in his gross joy, " that man has taken 
the right sow by the ear." 

It was deemed expedient to get opinions on the divorce 
question from all the universities in Europe, and to lay these 
opinions before the Pope. This was done ; but Clement, like 
all timid men, thinking to conciliate the nearest, and, as he 
thought, the most dangerous of his enemies, remained inexo- 
rable, and a decision was given against Henry. The Eeforma- 
tion immediately followed, and the new ecclesiastical authority 
in England was more obedient to Henry's wishes. 

The marriage of the king and Ann Boleyn was now formally 
solemnized ; and the woman on whose account the whole of 



188 ANN BOLEYN. 



Europe had been embroiled for the last four years, ascended 
that throne destined to be only a passage to a premature grave. 

Sir Thomas Eliot had been sent to Rome with an answer 
to a message from the Pope to Henry, and on his departure 
Ann Boleyn had given him a number of valuable diamonds to be 
employed in bribing those whose aid it was necessary to obtain. 
But nothing could avert the definitive rupture ; and when Eliot 
was about to return to England, Sixtus Y., then only a monk, 
shrugged up his shoulders, and lifting his eyes to Heaven, 
exclaimed, 

" Grreat God ! is it not the same to thee, whether Catherine 
of Arragon, or Ann Boleyn, be the wife of Henry VIII. .^" 

Ann Boleyn was now at the summit of her wishes. She was 
at length Queen of England, a title which had cost her too 
great anxiety of mind for her not to appreciate it far beyond 
its worth. But one thing embittered the joys it brought her — 
this was the idea that the same title was still retained by the 
unhappy Catherine. She, therefore, resolved to work her will 
with Henry, and deprive her late rival of this last remnant of 
the honors she had enjoyed, without reproach, during a period 
of more than twenty years, and until Ann's beauty had estranged 
the king's affection. Henry could not resist the tears and 
entreaties of his new queen, whose influence over him was 
strengthened by the birth of the Princess Elizabeth, and he 
sent Lord Montjoy to apprize Catherine that she was in future 
to bear no other title than that of Dowager Princess of Wales. 

" I am still Queen of England," she replied with dignity ; 
" and I cannot be deprived of that title except by death, or by 
a sentence of my divorce from the king, pronounced by the 
Pope." 

The thunders of the Church were at length brought into play 



ANN BOLEYN. 189 



against Henry. Paul III. had succeeded to the papal throne ; 
and though, whilst cardinal, he had always favored Henry's 
pretensions, perceiving now that a final breach had been effected 
with the English Church, he declared that the King of England 
had incurred the penalty of major excommunication. A bull 
was, therefore, sent forth declaring Henry's throne forfeited, and 
the issue of his marriage with Ann Boleyn incapable of succeed- 
ing to the crown of England. No person, under pain of ex- 
communication, was to acknowledge him king ; and the nobility 
of England were enjoined, under the same penalty, to take up 
arms ao-ainst him as a rebel and traitor to the church and to 

o 

Christ. All the archbishops, bishops, and curates of England, 
were commanded to excommunicate him every holiday after the 
Grospel at mass, and the Emperor Charles V. was exhorted, as 
protector of the Church, to enforce these orders with his armies. 
The King of France, as the most Christian king, was likewise 
enjoined to break off all intercourse with Henry VIII. To 
make the insult the more bitter, the Pope ordered all the 
curates in the neighborhood of Calais to read the bull of excom- 
munication in their several churches, and proclaim it from the 
pulpit. 

Henry felt but little concern at this noisy but powerless 
attack. Having assembled a parliament, an act was passed in- 
vesting him with all the powers of the Pope in England. But 
he had also an eye to the temporalities of the church ; and 
upon the strength of the spiritual authority he had acquired, he 
abolished the monasteries, and confiscated the ecclesiastical pos- 
sessions. To gratify his own avarice and reward his favorites at 
no cost to himself, he robbed the clergy of the property be- 
stowed upon them, by pious founders, for their support and 
that of the poor. Though three centuries have since elapsed, 



190 A N X E L E Y N . 



the effects of these measures are still felt in England. The 
overgrown revenues of some of the bishoprics, the enormous 
wealth of the deans and chapters, the inadequate stipends of 
the inferior clero-y. the svstem of the poor's rates so inefficient 
and yet so burthensome, the lay impropriations despoiling both 
the clergy and the poor — nay, the very unpopularity of tithes, 
which are principally claimed by plm-alists and seculars, are all 
fimits, not of the reformation itself, but of the system of spoilia- 
tion pursued by Henry YIII. the moment he had converted 
the worship of Almighty God into a political engine. 

Ann Boleyn has been accused of prompting the king to 
these measiu'es ; but I apprehend that the charge proceeds 
solely from the blind vindictiveness of the Catholic party. Ann 
was thoughtless, giddy, and fond of admiration ; but her mind 
was as incapable of preconceiving as of pursuing a cold and pre- 
meditated system of vengeance. Her anger was easily roused 
when her vanity was wounded or her interests opposed, but it 
evaporated as easily. It is true, that she felt a bitterness of 
hostihty almost foreign to her nature towards Catherine ; but 
that unhappy princess stood in her way and endangered the 
inheritance of her daughter. This is certainly the most un- 
amiable part of Ann's character, and nothing can be said in its 
justification. 

The digTiity and propriety of Catherine's conduct, joined to 
her misfortunes, called forth the pity of the whole Christian 
world. Henry again ordered her, under the severest penalties, 
to forego the title of Queen ; and the persons in her service 
were commanded to caU her the Princess of Wales. Catherine 
refused the services of those of her officers who obeyed this 
mandate, and for a few days she was wholly without attendants. 
i| So many persecutions, and a deep sense of the injui'ies she had 



ANN B L E Y N . 191 



received, preyed upon her health, and she fell dangerously ill. 
The king gave orders that the gi*eatest care should he taken of 
her, and everything done that could contribute to her comfort ; 
as if, after he had stricken his victim to death, he would fain 
heal the wound. 

Ann was alarmed at this seeming return of the king's tender- 
ness for Catherine. The clamors raised by the Catholic party 
also gave her strong apprehensions that the claims of her 
daughter would be disallowed. She therefore again exerted 
her influence over Henry, and the Princess Elizabeth was pro- 
claimed, by sound of trumpet, heii' to the throne of England, 
to the exclusion of her sister 3Iary. 

Catherine died on the 6th of January, 1536, at Kimbolton, 
in the county of Huntingdon, in the fiftieth year of her age. 
Before she expired, she wrote a very affecting letter to the 
king, in which she recommended her daughter to his fatherly 
care. The last sentence of this letter is deserving of notice, 
and could have been written only by a woman : — 

" I make this vow, that mine eyes desire you above all things." 

Henry's stern nature was overcome by these simple words, 
written at the moment of death, when the illusions of the world 
disappear before the awful view of eternity. He wept over this 
letter, penned by a hand already cold and stiff — he wept at this 
last address of his victim, at this last proof of fond affection 
which he had so basely repaid. 

Ann evinced the most indecent joy on receiving the news of 
Catherine's death. When the messenger arrived, she was 
washing her hands in a splendid vermeil basin, beside which 
stood a ewer of the same metal. She immediately took both, 
and thrusting them into his hands — 

" Receive this present," said she, '' for your good news." 



192 ANN B O L E Y N 



The same day her parents came to see her at Whitehall 
She ran and embraced them in a delirium of joy. 

"•Rejoice!" she cried; ''now is your daughter truly a 
Queen." 

A few days at>er this event, Ann was delivered of a still-born 
son, which the Catholic party attributed to the effect of the ex- 
communication. Henry's passion for her now began to subside, 
and he soon loved her no more. Inconstancy was as much a 
part of his nature as cruelty. The possession of Ami, pur- 
chased at such immense sacrifices, divested of the excitement 
which, during six years, had kept it alive, had no longer any 
charms for him. If the austerity of Catherine's temper had 
estranged him from her, the excessive gayety of her successor 
produced the same effect. Ann's lively sallies, to which Henry 
had once listened as if spell-bound, now threw him into fits of 
ill-humor of several hours' duration ; for his heart had so many 
moving folds that its ^'uluerable side one day was impenetrable 
the next. Courtiers are keen-sighted, and those about the king 
soon perceived that he was absorbed by a new passion. Jane 
Seymour had replaced Ann Boleyn in Henry's love, just as Ann 
had replaced Catherine of Arragon. But to indulge in this new 
passion, and elevate its object to the throne, it was necessary 
to convict the queen of a crime ; and there was no want of 
accusers the moment the tide of Ann's tavor had begun to ebb. 

The queen had many enemies beside the Catholic party. 
Her extreme gayety and powers of ridicule, the mere effects of 
exuberant spirits in a young and sprightly woman, had drawn 
upon her much greater resentment than serious insult would 
have done. Thus, the moment the decline of Henry's affec- 
tion was perceived, accusations poured in, the least of which 
was sufficient to insure Ann's disirracc and death. 



ANN BOLEYN.I 193 



But to avoid giving umbrage to the nation, whose discontent 
had already been manifested on other occasions, an offence of 
more than usual enormity was requisite, -^n had a brother, 
the Viscount of Rocheford, to whom she was^nderly attached. 
The Viscountess of Ilocheford, his wife, a wokan of the most 
profligate character, was the first to instill the jMson of jealousy 
into the king's ear, and to insinuate calumnies of the blackest 
dye, which also implicated her husband. Henry Norris, groom 
of the stole, Weston and Brereton, gentlemen of the privy 
chamber, and Mark Smeton, a musician of the king's band, 
were faithfully devoted to Ann, and had won her friendship and 
confidence. They were also included in the plot, as accomplices 
of her alleged profligacy. She had .herself facilitated the plans 
of her accusers by her general thoughtlessness and levity of 
demeanor, as well as by some silly speeches. 

Ann was more vain than proud ; and her vanity was applied 
principally to the charms of her person. To obtain admiration, 
she spared neither her smiles nor her powers of pleasing. ITcr 
education at the French court had tainted her with that spirit 
of gallantry, more in conversation than in actions, which distin- 
guished the first years of the reign of Francis I. But her con- 
duct was strictly virtuous ^ and her soul pure and innocent. In- 
ferences were, however, drawn from things perfectly harmless in 
themselves, but certainly unbecoming in a young female ; and 
these, coupled with the infamous tales of her sister-in-law, had 
roused all the malignant feelings of Henry's nature. 

On the 1st of May, 1536, there was a tilting-match at Grreen- 
wich, and the queen had never appeared in bettor spirits. 
Henry thought that she looked at Ilocheford with something 
more than brotherly affection. Norris, who had just been 
tilting, having approached lier, she greeted hlin witli a smile, 



194 ANN BOLEYN, 



and dropped her handkerchief. Though this was probably ac- 
cidental, Henry attributed it to an improper feeling towards the 
groom of the stole, and, uttering a dreadful oath, immediately 
left Greenwich. When his departure was communicated to 
Ann, she only laughed and said, 

" He will return." 

But he did not return, and a few hours after, those accused 
of being her accomplices in adultery were arrested and sent to 
the Tower, while she was confined to her room. She now saw 
her impending fate. 

'' I am lost !" said she, in tears, to her mother and to Miss 
Methley, one of her maids of honor ; " I am forever lost." 

Next morning she was placed in a litter and conveyed to the 
Tower, where she was closely imprisoned, and not allowed to 
communicate with anybody, even in writing. Her uncle's wife, 
Lady Boleyn, was appointed to sleep in the same room with her, 
in order to extort admissions from her which might be turned 
to her disadvantage. The lady hated the queen, and there- 
fore made no scruple to accept so odious a mission. 

Henry was always in a hurry to consummate a crime when he 
had once conceived it. He therefore lost not an instant in con- 
stituting a tribunal of peers for the trial of the brother and sis- 
ter. The Duke of Norfolk, forgetfal of the ties of blood between 
himself and Ann, and prompted by his ambition, became her 
most dangerous enemy. He presided at this tribunal as Lord 
High Steward, and twenty-five peers were appointed to sit with 
him. They opened their court on the 15th of May, and the 
queen having appeared before them, declared that she was inno- 
cent, and throwing herself upon her knees, appealed to God for 
the truth of her statement. She confessed certain instances of 
perhaps unbecoming levity, but the sum of her offences would 



ANN BOLEYN. 195 



not have tainted the reputation of a young girl. She defended 
herself with admirable ability and address. But she was doomed 
beforehand, and she and her brother were condemned to die. 
The sentence bore, that she should be beheaded or burnt, accord- 
ing to the king's good pleasure ; but Henry spared her the pile. 

Ann's benevolence of character had led her to confer obliga- 
tions on all around her ; but when the wheel of fortune turned, 
not a voice was raised in her favor except that of Cranmer, who 
remained faithful to her, but unhappily had no means of avert- 
ing her fate. 

No one can doubt the queen's innocence ; and if her conduct, 
during the few fleeting years of her greatness, was sometimes 
marked with thoughtless imprudence, she met her death with 
noble dignity and fortitude. There is often a strength of hero- 
ism in woman quite beyond the feeble and helpless condition of 
her sex ; and this was displayed by Ann to an extent which will 
always combine the highest admiration with the pity awakened 
by her mirfortunes. A short time before her trial, she wrote 
the king a letter, which, says a celebrated English historian, 
" contains so much nature and even elegance, that it deserves 
to be transmitted to posterity." I therefore give it a place here. 

•' Sir, — Your Grace's displeasure and my imprisonment are 
things so strange unto me, as what to write or what to excuse, I 
am altogether ignorant. Whereas you send unto me (willing 
me to confess a truth and so obtain your favor) by such an one 
whom you know to be mine ancient professed enemy, I no 
sooner received this message by him, than I rightly conceived 
your meaning ; and if, as you say, confessing a truth indeed may 
procure my safety, I shall with all willingness and duty perform 
your command. 



196 ANN BOLEYN. 



" But let not your Grrace ever imagine that your poor wife will 
ever be brought to acknowledge a fault where not so much as a 
thought thereof proceeded. And to speak a truth, never prince 
had wife more loyal in all duty and in all true affection, than 
you have ever found in Ann Boleyn, with which name and place 
I could willingly have contented myself, if God and your Grace's 
pleasure had been so pleased. Neither did I at any time so far 
forget myself in my exaltation or received queenship, but that I 
always looked for such an alteration as I now find ; for the 
ground of my preferment being on no surer foundation than 
your Grace's fancy, the least alteration, I knew, was fit and suf- 
ficient to draw that fancy to some other subject. You have 
chosen me, from a low estate, to be your queen and companion, 
far beyond my desert or desire. If then you found me worthy 
of such honor, good your Grace let not any light fancy, or bad 
counsel of mine enemies, withdraw your princely favor from me ; 
neither let that stain, that unworthy stain of a disloyal heart 
towards your good Grace, ever cast so foul a blot on your most 
dutiful wife, and the infant-princess, your daughter. Try me, 
good king, but let me have a lawful trial, and let not my sworn 
enemies sit as my accusers and judges ; yea, let me receive an 
open trial, for my truth shall fear no shame ; then shall you see, 
either mine innocency declared, your suspicion and conscience 
satisfied, the ignominy and slander of the world stopped, or my 
guilt openly declared : So that whatsoever God or you may 
determine of me, your Grace may be freed from an open cen- 
sure ; and mine offence being so lawfully proved, your Grace 
is at liberty, both before God and man, not only to execute 
worthy punishment on me as an unlawful wife, but to follow 
your affection, already settled on that party, for whose sake I 
am now as I am, whose name I could some good while since have 



ANN BOLEYN. 197 



pointed unto — your Grace being not ignorant of my suspicion 
therein. 

'' But if you have abeady determined of me, and that not 
only my death, but an infamous slander must bring you the en- 
joying of your desired happiness ; then I desire of God that he 
will pardon your great sin therein, and likewise mine enemies, 
the instruments thereof ; and that he will not call you to a strict 
account for your unprincely and cruel usage of me, at his general 
judgment-seat, where both you and myself must shortly appear, 
and in whose judgment I doubt not (whatsoever the world may 
think of me) mine innocence shall be openly known and suffi- 
ciently declared. 

" My last and only request shall be, that myself may only 
bear the burthen of your Grace's displeasure, and that it may 
not touch the innocent souls of those poor gentlemen, who (as I 
understand) are likewise in strait imprisonment for my sake. 
If ever I have found favor in your sight, if ever the name of 
Ann Boleyn hath been pleasing in your ears, then let me obtain 
this request ; and I will so leave to trouble your Grace any 
further, with mine earnest prayers to the Trinity to have your 
Grace in his good keeping, and to direct you in all your actions. 
From my doleful prison in the Tower this 6th of May. 

^' Your most loyal and ever faithful wife, 

" Ann Boleyn." 

This letter produced no other effect than to hasten the trial. 
It is said that the decision of the peers was at first in favor of 
the queen and her brother, but that the Duke of Norfolk hav- 
ing compelled them to reconsider a verdict so contrary to the 
king's expectations, both were condemned to death. 

Ann with resignation prepared to meet her fate. The day 



198 ANN BOLEYN. 



before her execution, she forced the wife of the Lieutenant of 
the Tower to sit in the chair of state, and bending her knee, 
entreated this lady, in the name of God to go to the Princess 
Mary and entreat forgiveness for all the affronts her Highness 
had received from her, hoping they would not be punished in the 
person of her daughter Elizabeth, to whom she trusted Mary 
would prove a good sister. 

Next morning she dressed herself with royal magnificence. 

" I must be bravely attired," she said, '' to appear as becomes 
the queen of the feast." ' 

She sent the king a last message before she died, not to 
solicit any favor, but to thank him for the care he took of her 
elevation. 

^' Tell him," she said, '^ that he made me a marchioness, 
then a queen, and is now about to make me a saint — for I die 
innocent." 

When the Lieutenant of the Tower came to inform her that all 
was ready, she received him not only with firmness, but with 
gayety. 

" The executioner," she observed with a smile, " is skillful, 
and my neck is slender." And she measured her neck with her 
hands. 

She walked to the scaffold with a firm step. Having ascended 
it, she prayed devoutly for the king, praised him highly, and 
termed him " a gentle and most merciful prince." But these 
exaggerated praises can be attributed only to her fear that her 
daughter Elizabeth might suffer, on her account, the same indig- 
nities that Catherine of Arragon, through her obstinacy, had 
brought upon the princess Mary. Ann Boleyn was beheaded 
on the 29th of May, 1536, by the executioner of Calais, who 
had been sent for as the most expert in Henry's dominions. 



ANN BOLEYN. 199 



Her body was carelessly placed into a common elm chest, and 
buried in the Tower. 

Henry's subsequent conduct is a complete justification of 
Ann Boleyn. The very day after her execution, he married 
Jane Seymour, who did not live long enough to be sacrificed to 
a new attachment ; for she died, little more than two years after 
her marriage, in giving birth to Edward YI. 

The character of Ann Boleyn has been basely calumniated 
by party historians, especially by Sanderus, or Sanders, '^ who," 
says Bishop Burnet, '' did so impudently deliver falsehoods, that 
from his own book many of them may be disproved." Though 
never calculated to become a great queen, Ann Boleyn had 
nevertheless many good and amiable qualities, which more than 
compensate for the silly vanity and thoughtlessness of a young 
and beautiful woman, conscious of her personal attractions, and 
continually beset by flatterers. She was high-minded, benevolent 
to a fault, and strictly virtuous ; and though her history is re- 
markable only from the influence it had upon the afikirs of 
Europe during several years, and from its having led to a re- 
formation of religion in England, yet the moment her young and 
innocent life was doomed to be offered up a sacrifice to the brutal 
passions of Henry VIII., she displayed the fortitude and eleva- 
tion of mind which preceded her death, and won a right to the 
admiration of posterity, and to a high seat in that temple which 
the celebrated women of all countries have raised to their own 
fame. 



lA-BY lAIl {^EAY. 

Ambition punished, seldom excites pity ; but can a tribute of 
commiseration be refused to a beautiful woman, only seventeen 
years of age, who laid her head upon the block to expiate the 
ambition of another ? Such was the fate of Lady Jane Gray ! 
A crown had no attractions for her — she had no desire to reign ! 
It seemed as if this unfortunate and lovely young creature felt 
her feet slip on the very steps of that throne which the Duke 
of Northumberland forced her to ascend. A warning presenti- 
ment told her that a life of quiet seclusion was the only means 
she had of escaping a violent death. She long resisted the 
fatal counsel of her father-in-law ; but she was dragged on by 
her evil destiny. 

Lady Jane Gray, born in 1537, was the granddaughter of 
Mary Tudor, sister of Henry YIII. This princess, being left a 
widow by the death of her husband, Louis XII., King of France, 
and having no children by this marriage, returned to England 
and married Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, whom she had long 
loved, and who was Lady Jane's grandfather. The subject of 
this memoir, when she was scarcely sixteen, married Lord 
Guildford Dudley, fourth son of John Dudley, Duke of North- 
umberland. Lady Jane Gray was beyond measure lovely ; 
her features were beautifully regular, and her large and mild 
eyes were the reflection of a pure and energetic soul, though 
peaceful and unambitious. She had a strong passion for study, 



204 LADY JANE GRAY. 



especially tliat of abstruse science. Thxougli young, slie liad ac- 
quired vast learning, and was deeply read in the ancients ; she 
was very familiar with Greek and extremely partial to Plato. 
Living at one of her country-seats, she divided her time be- 
tween her books and her husband, until political events of high 
importance troubled her peaceful life and destroyed her hap- 
piness. 

Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, Protector of England, 
exercised over that kingdom a despotic sway to which the nobles 
would no longer submit. The latter, equally disgusted with 
the pride of Thomas Lord Seymour, the Protector's brother, 
applauded the Duke of Northumberland when he succeeded in 
successively removing these two favorites from the king's per- 
son ; and Northumberland thought himself popular, when he 
was only loved on account of his hatred towards the Seymours. 
Edward YL, a weak and sickly child, who could ill bear the 
weight of the crown that encircled his pallid brow, always be- 
stowed his favor upon those near his person, and Northumber- 
land succeeded Somerset. But the new favorite, fearing, and 
with good reason, that he should not long retain this station, as 
the king might die, and was indeed then dying, though only 
sixteen years of age, employed, with considerable address, the 
prejudices of religion to gain his ends. He described to Edward, 
in hideous colors, the character of his sister, Mary, the Catholic ; 
and represented in an equally unfavorable light, Elizabeth, 
daughter of that Ann Boleyn who was condemned and executed 
for adultery. Could then the crown of England, he a^ked, be 
placed upon a dishonored brow, or the welfare of the English 
nation be intrusted to an intolerant fanatic ? Northumberland 
was a man of ability ; he shook the timid conscience of Edward, 
who, fearing Mary's violence, and prejudiced against Elizabeth, 



LADY JANE GRAY. 205 

changed the order of succession, and designated as his successor, 
Jane Gray, the eldest daughter of Henry Gray. 

At the period of Edward's death, there were four female 
claimants to the crown of England. Two of them were daugh- 
ters of Henry VIII., — Mary the Catholic, born of a repudiated 
wife — Elizabeth the Protestant, born of a wife beheaded as an 
adulteress. The two others, descended from Henry YII., 
were Lady Jane Gray, and Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland — 
the one a Protestant, like Elizabeth, and claiming by the last 
will of Edward VI. ; the other a Catholic, like Mary, and 
having not a very clear right, nor the means of enforcing it, 
even if it were established. 

Lady Jane Gray, in the innocence of her heart, was un- 
acquainted with her own claims, and was, besides, unambitious 
to change her lot. But an ambitious father-in-law forced her 
upon a throne, to reign only a few days, and then die ♦by the 
hand of the public executioner. In vain did the lovely young 
creature entreat her father-in-law to allow her to retain her 
freedom. The obstinate duke, always at the head of intrigues, 
determined to gain his point with her whom he deemed a 
child. '' Shall it be for nothing," said he, '' that I have caused 
the daughters of two queens to be declared illegitimate in order 
to place the crown upon the head of my daughter-in-law ? No, 
indeed !" 

Northumberland, not trusting solely to the will of Edward 
VI. to get Lady Jane Gray acknowledged queen after the 
king's death, was anxious, before he made the attempt, to have 
the two daughters of Henry VIII. in his power. He, there- 
fore, a short time before Edward's death, prevailed on the 
council to write to Mary and Elizabeth, requesting their presence 
to afford assistance and consolation to a dying brother. They 



206 LADY JANE GRAY. 

accordingly set out for London ; but Edward having expired 
before their arrival, Northumberland concealed his death, in 
order that the princesses might continue their journey, and fall 
into the snare he had laid for them. Mary had already reached 
Hoddesdon, about seventeen miles from London, when the Earl 
of Arundel sent her an express to inform her of her brother's 
death, and warn her of the projects of Northumberland. She 
immediately retired in all haste, and reached Kenninghall in 
Norfolk, whence she proceeded to Framlingham in Suffolk. 
She wrote to all the principal nobility and gentry in the king- 
dom, calling upon them to take up arms in defence of the 
crown and its legitimate heir ; she also sent to the council to 
announce that she was aware of her brother's death, and com- 
maftded them to take the necessary steps for her being pro- 
claimed. Dissimulation being no longer of any use, Northum- 
berland boldly declared his plan, and, attended by several of 
the great nobles of England, proceeded to Zion House, where 
he did homage to Lady Jane Grray as Queen of England. It 
was then only that this lovely and unfortunate young woman 
was made acquainted with the intentions of her father-in-law. 
She rejected the proffered crown, and urged the priority of 
right possessed by the daughters of Henry VIII. For a long 
time she persisted in her refusal ; and her resistance was at 
length overcome, more by the persuasion of her husband. Lord 
Guildford Dudley, than by the entreaties of her father-in-law. 
She was immediately conducted to the Tower of London, where 
it was customary for the sovereigns of England to spend the 
first days of their accession to the throne ; and she went thither 
rather as a beautiful victim to be offered up in sacrifice, than as 
the new sovereign of a great nation. 

In vain she was proclaimed Queen of England ; not a sign 



LADY JANE GRAY. 207 

of rejoicing was heard, and the people maintained a sullen 
silence. There was no feeling against Lady Jane Gray ; but 
the unpopularity of the Dudleys was excessive, and it was easily 
seen that, under the name of Jane, they would be the real 
rulers of England. This made the nation look toward Mary, 
and the promises of religious toleration which she held out, 
induced them to support her cause. 

Meanwhile Mary was obtaining the submission of the people 
of Suffolk. All the inhabitants of this county professed the 
reformed religion, and the moment she pledged herself that 
they should freely exercise their faith, they attached themselves 
to her cause. The most powerful of the nobility flocked to her 
standard , and Sir Edward Hastings, who had received a com- 
mission from the council to levy troops in the county of Buck- 
ingham for Lady Jane Gray, brought these troops to Mary. 
A fleet also which Northumberland had sent to cruise off the 
coast of Suffolk, entered Yarmouth, and declared for the 
daughter of Henry YIII. Soon after, the ministers of Jane's 
government, who considered themselves little better than North- 
umberland's prisoners, left the Tower in a body, and with 
the Mayor and Aldermen of London proceeded to do homage 
to her whom they deemed their legitimate sovereign. 

Success attended Mary's arms, and she was universally ac- 
knowledged queen. At first she appeared mild and clement, 
assuming an expression of benevolence, and talking only of par- 
don. But such a word from her was a cruel mockery. If 
there was pardon, there must have been injury ; and it was 
in Mary's nature never to forget an offence. This seeming 
mildness was only the slumber of vengeance, which was soon 
to awake and throw mourning and desolation over the land. 
Northumberland was at first the only individual she seemed 



208 LADY JANE GRAY. 

desirous of sacrificing to her resentment. Lady Jane Gray and 
her husband were imprisoned in the Tower, and the Queen of 
England was proclaimed most just and merciful, because she 
had taken only a single life. 

In a very short time, however, cries of sedition were heard. 
The people, alarmed at having a religion forced upon them 
in which they had no belief, showed symptoms of disaffection. 
Mary gave no heed to the promises she had solemnly made 
whilst struggling for her rights. She reinstated the Catholic 
bishops, and brow-beat the inhabitants of Suffolk when they 
urged her pledge to them. 

Mary was alarmed at the cries of sedition uttered by the 
people. Lady Jane and her husband were brought before an 
iniquitous council, who condemned them both to die ; and the 
Mayor of London having begged that a public example might 
be made, obtained that Lord Guildford Dudley should be exe- 
cuted in public. The unfortunate nobleman, on his sentence 
being communicated to him, requested an interview with his 
wife. She refused to see him, but wrote him a letter to the 
following purport : — 

'' Do not let us meet, Guildford — we must see each other no 
more until we are united in a better world. We must forget 
our joys so sweet, Guildford, our loves so tender and so happy. 
You must now devote yourself to none but serious thoughts. 
No more love, no more happiness here upon earth ! — we must 
now think of nothing but death ! Remember, my Guildford, 
that the people are waiting for you, to see how a man can die. 
Show no weakness as you approach the scaffold ; your fortitude 
would be overcome, perhaps, were you to see me. You could 
not quit your poor Jane without tears; and tears and weak- 
ness must be left to us women. Adieu, my Guildford, adieu ! 



LADY JANE GRAY. 209 

Be a man — be firm at the last hour — let me be proud of 
you." 

Guildford died like a hero, and Jane was proud of him. 
Ah ! it was not from weakness that this noble-minded creature 
refused the crown ; she was happy with her books, her affection, 
and her beloved husband, under her arbors of flowers. It was 
the absence of happiness in a crown, not its weight that alarmed 
her. 

She saw her husband leave the Tower and proceed to the 
place of execution. She prayed a long time for him ; her own 
turn then came, and she prepared for death. Mary, desirous 
of increasing her sufferings, pretended to convert her, and 
offered to pardon her if she would abjure the reformed religion. 
But, with a sweet smile of sadness, she refused. For, at that 
time, what was life to her .? — nothing but a vast solitude, through 
which she would have to wander alone and deserted. She 
preferred death ! 

For three days she was assailed by the importunities of 
Catholic priests, who thought they had shaken her faith. Jane 
made them no reply, but continued her prayers. Having 
written a last letter of adieu'^ to her sister, the Countess of 
Pembroke, she took off her mourning, dressed herself in white, 
had her long and beautiful hair cut off by her female attendants, 
and walked boldy to the place of execution. When, however, 
she saw the sparkling of the steel axe, she turned pale. She 
knelt, prayed again, lifted up her eyes and looked at the 
heavens ! — then placing her head upon the block, she received 
the stroke that conferred upon her a crown of which no human 
passions could deprive her — the crown of martyrdom ! 

* This letter was written in Greek. A good translation of it into French is to be 
found in Larrey's History of England. 



210 LADY JANE GRAY. 

This was the third time in London, within a period of twenty 
years, that the blood of a queen had stained the scaffold. The 
reign of Elizabeth was to present a fourth act of the same 
tragedy. 

Catherine Gray, Countess of Pembroke, was more to be pitied 
than her sister Jane ; for, after all, what is death to one who 
has lost everything that makes life valuable ? But Catherine, 
separated from a world in which the man she loved still lived, 
must often have prayed to Grod to give her the sleep of the 
grave. 

Catherine Gray had married the Earl of Pembroke ; but their 
union was so unhappy that both demanded a separation, and 
their marriage was dissolved by a judicial act. She then be- 
came the wife of the Earl of Hertford, who set out for France, 
leaving her pregnant. Catherine Gray being of the royal blood 
of Tudor, her marriage without the consent of her sovereign 
was imputed to her as a crime ; and on ascending the throne, 
Mary, as happy in having to inflict punishment as another would 
have been to show clemency, condemned her to imprisonment 
for life. The Earl of Hertford, on his return from France, was 
also sentenced to imprisonment, and the Archbishop of Canter- 
bury declared the marriage null and void. Nevertheless, the 
Earl protested against the sentence of the Archbishop, as well 
as against that of his other judges. He loved Catherine with 
the tenderest affection ; and still looking upon her as his wife, 
bribed the keeper of the Tower, and obtained access to her 
prison. Catherine became a mother a second time ; and Mary 
persecuted the Earl of Hertford with all the vindictive hatred 
of a queen whose authority is despised, and of a woman already 
past the age of inspiring love, who cannot forgive young people 
for their superiority in this respect. The EarPs accusation con- 



LADY JANE GRAY. 211 

sisted of three counts : — First, of having seduced a princess of 
the royal blood ; secondly, of having violated a state prison ; 
and thirdly, of having approached a woman from whom the law 
had separated him. He was condemned to a fine of five thou- 
sand pounds s'terling for each offence. He paid the fifteen 
thousand pounds, and, after a long confinement, consented to 
sign a voluntary act of separation from Catherine ; but not till 
after a long struggle, and a resistance which bore ample testi- 
mony of the strength of his attachment. 

The unfortunate Catherine Gray died in prison, in 1562, 
after a long and painful captivity. Like her sister Jane, she 
was learned and fond of study. Both were young and lovely, 
and the fate of both showed that royal birth is no security against 
misfortune. Tears are shed in the palaces of kings as well as 
the peasant's hovel ; and arms loaded with jewels often bear the 
chains of captivity. Poison is sometimes drank in a cup of gold, 
and the crowned head severed by the executioner's axe ! 



Jeoi|olr^ S'Jgfe. 




1L[E©1j^(Q)[^^ ©Me g TT [t , 



Irinted'byJrniAjshtony 



Of all the heaven-bestowed privileges of the poet, the highest, 
the dearest, the most enviable, is the power of immortalizing the 
object of his love ; of dividing with her his wreath of glory, and 
repaying the inspiration caught from her eyes with a crown of 
everlasting fame. It is not enough, that in his imagination he 
has deified her — that he has consecrated his faculties to her 
honor — that he has burned his heart in incense upon the altar 
of her perfections ; the divinity, thus decked out in richest and 
loveliest hues, he places on high, and calls upon all ages and all 
nations to bow down before her, and all ages and all nations 
obey ! worshiping the beauty thus enshrined in imperishable 
verse, when others, not less fair, have gone down unsung, '' to 
dust and endless darkness." How many women, who would 
otherwise have stolen through the shade of domestic life, their 
charms, virtues, and affections buried with them, have become 
objects of eternal interest and admiration, because their memory 
is linked with the brightest monuments of human genius. 

Leonora D' Este, a princess of the proudest house in Europe, 
might have wedded an emperor and have been forgotten. The 
idea, true or false, that she it was who frenzied the brain and 
broke the heart of Tasso, has glorified her to future ages — has 
given her a fame something like that of the Greek of old, who 
bequeathed his name to posterity by firing the grandest temple 
in the universe. 



216 LEONORA d'eSTE. 

No poet, perhaps, ever owed so much to female influence as 
Tasso, or wrote so much under the intoxicating inspiration of 
love and beauty. The high tone of sentiment, the tenderness 
and the delicacy which pervade all his poems, which prevail even 
in his most voluptuous descriptions, may be traced to the adora- 
tion he cherished for Leonora. 

When Tasso was first introduced to Leonora, in her brother's 
court at Ferrara, in 1565, she was in her thirtieth year — still 
eminently lovely — in that soft, artless, unobtrusive style of 
beauty, which is charming in itself, and in a princess irresisti- 
ble, from its contrast with the loftiness of her station and the 
trappings of her rank. Her complexion was extremely fair ; 
her features small and regular ; and the form of her head pe- 
culiarly graceful. Her eyes were blue, and her exquisitely 
beautiful mouth, Tasso styles " a crimson shell" — 

Purpurea conca, in cui si nutre 
Candor di perle elette e pellegrine. 

Ill health, and her early acquaintance with the sorrows of her 
unfortunate mother,* had given to her countenance a languid 
and pensive cast, and destroyed all the natural bloom of her 
complexion ; but ^^Paleur qui marque une ame tendre^ a Hen son 
prix c^'' so Tasso thought; and this pallor which " vanquishes 
the rose, and makes the dawn ashamed of her blushes," he has 
frequently and beautifully celebrated. 

When Tasso first visited Ferrara he was just one-and-twenty, 
with all the advantages which a fine countenance, a majestic 
figure, noble birth, and exceeding talents could bestow. He 
was already distinguished as the author of the Einaldo, his 

''^ Renee of France, the daughter of Louis XII. She was closely imprisoned during 
twelve years, on suspicion of favoring the early reformers. 



LEONORA d'eSTE. 217 

earliest poem, in which he had celebrated (as if prophetically) 
the Princess D'Este — and chiefly Leonora. Tasso, from his 
boyish years, had been a sworn servant of beauty. Refined, 
even to fastidiousness, in his intercourse with women, he had 
formed, in his own poetical mind, the most exalted idea of 
what a female ought to be, and, unfortunately, she who first 
realized all his dreams of perfection was a princess — '' there 
seated where he durst not soar." 

Although Leonora was his senior by several years, disparity 
of age is certainly no argument against the passion she inspired. 
For a young man, at his first entrance into life, to fall in love 
ambitiously — with a woman, for instance, who is older than 
himself, or with one who is, or ought to be, unattainable — is a 
common occurrence. Leonora was not unworthy of her illus- 
trious conquest. She was of studious and retired habits — sel- 
dom joining in the amusements of her brother's Court, then the 
gayest and most magnificent in Italy. Her mother, Renee of 
France, had early instilled into her mind a love of literature, 
and especially of poetry. She was passionately fond of music, 
and sang admirably ; and, to a sweet-toned voice, added a gift, 
which, unless thus accompanied, loses half its value and almost 
all its charm. She spoke well ; and her eloquence was so per- 
suasive, that we are told she had power to move her brother 
Alphonso, when none else could. Tasso says most poetically, 

*' E r aura del parlar cortese e saggio, 
Fra le rose spirar, s'udia sovente ;" 

— meaning — for to translate literally is scarcely possible — that 
" eloquence played round her lips like the zephyr breathing 
over roses." 

With what emotions must a young and ardent poet have 



218 LEONORA d'eSTE. 

listened to his own praises from a beautiful mouth, thus sweetly 
gifted ! He says, '' My heart was touched through my ears ; 
her gentle wisdom penetrated deeper than her beauty could 
reach." 

To be summoned daily into the presence of a princess thus 
beautiful and amiable — to read aloud his verses to her, to hear 
his own praises from her lips, to bask in her approving smiles, 
to associate with her in her retirement, to behold her in all 
the graceful simplicity of her familiar life — was a dangerous 
situation for Tasso, and surely not less so for Leonora herself. 
That she was aware of his admiration and perfectly understood 
his sentiments, and that a mysterious intelligence existed be- 
tween them, consistent with the utmost reverence on his part, 
and the most perfect delicacy and dignity on hers, is apparent 
from the meaning and tendency of innumerable passages scat- 
tered through his minor poems — too significant to be mistaken. 
Without multiplying quotations which would extend this sketch 
from pages into volumes, it is sufficient that we may trace 
through Tasso 's verses the little incidents which varied this 
romantic intercourse. The frequent indisposition of Leonora, 
and her absence when she went to visit her brother, the Cardinal 
d'Este, at Tivoli, form the subjects of several beautiful little 
poems. He relates, in a beautiful little madrigal, that, standing 
alone with her in a balcony, he chanced, perhaps in the eager- 
ness of conversation, to extend his arm on hers. He asks 
pardon for the freedom, and she replies with sweetness, '' You 
offended not by placing your arm there, but by withdrawing it." 
This little speech in a coquette would have been sans conse- 
quence. From such a woman as Leonora it spoke volumes, and 
her lover felt it so. But Leonora knew, as well as her lover, 
that a princess '^ was no love-mate for a bard." She knew far 



LEONORA d'eSTE. 219 

better than her lover, until he, too had been taught by wretched 
experience, the haughty and implacable temper of her brother 
Alphonso, who never was known to brook an injury or forgive 
an offender. She must have remembered the twelve years' 
imprisonment, and the narrow escape from death, of her un- 
fortunate mother, for a less cause. She was of a timid and 
reserved nature, increased by the extreme delicacy of her con- 
stitution. Her hand had frequently been sought by princes 
and nobles, whom she had uniformly rejected at the risk of dis- 
pleasing her brother, and the eyes of a jealous court were upon 
her. Tasso, on the other hand, was imprudent, hot-headed, 
fearless, ardently attached. For both their sakes, it was neces- 
sary for Leonora to be guarded and reserved, unless she would 
have made herself the fable of all Italy. And in what glowing 
verse has Tasso described all the delicious pain of such a 
situation ! now proud of his fetters — now execrating them in 
despair. 

Then came a cloud, but whether of temper or jealousy, we 
know not ; and Tasso, withdrawing himself from the object of 
devotion, accompanied Lucrezia d'Este, then Duchess of Urbino, 
to her villa of Castel Durante, where he remained for some 
time, partaking in all the amusements of her gay court, without 
once seeing Leonora. He then wrote to her, and the letter, 
fortunately ,Jias been preserved entire. Though guarded in ex- 
pression, it is throughout in the tone of a lover piqued, and yet 
conscious that he has himself offended ; and seeking, with a 
sort of proud humility, the reconciliation on which his happi- 
ness depends. 

In the meanwhile, there was a report that Leonora was about 
to be united to a foreign prince. Her hand had been demanded 
of her brother with the usual formalities, and the anguish and 



220 LEONORA d'eSTE. 

jealous pain which her lover suffered at this period, is finely 
expressed in the Canzone, 

*' Amor tu vedi, e non hai duolo o sdegno," &c. 

and in the sonnet, 

*' lo sparse, ed altri miete !" &c. 

This dreaded marriage never took place ; and Tasso, relieved 
from his fears and restored to the confidence of Leonora, was 
again comparatively blessed. 

About two years after the completion of the '' Jerusalem 
Delivered," while all Europe rung with the poet's fame, Tasso 
fled from the court of Ferrara in a fit of distraction. His 
frenzy was caused partly by religious horrors and scruples ; 
partly by the petty but accumulated injuries which malignity 
and tyranny had heaped upon him ; partly by a long-indulged 
and hopeless passion. He fled, to hide himself and his sorrows 
in the arms of his sister Cornelia. The brother and sister had 
not met since their childish years ; and Tasso, wild with misery, 
forlorn and penniless, knew not what reception he was to meet 
with. When arrived within a league of his birth-place, Sor- 
rento, near Naples, he changed clothes with a shepherd, and in 
this disguise appeared before his sister, as one sent with tidings 
of her brother's misfortunes. The recital, we may believe, was 
not coldly given. Cornelia was so violently agitated by the elo- 
quence of the feigned messenger, that she fainted away, and 
Tasso was obliged to hasten the denouement by discovering 
himself. In the same moment he was clasped in her affec- 
tionate arms, and bathed with her tears. 

And how was it with her, whose life was a weary, a per- 



LEONORA d'eSTE. 221 

petual sacrifice to her exalted position ? Through her the 
world had opened upon him with a diviner beauty ; she was the 
source of the high imaginations, the glorious fancies, the heaven- 
ward aspirations, which raised him above the herd of vulgar 
men ; yet, while for glory she gave a heart, it was forever 
denied to her to make her lover happy. While, through love for 
her he suffered ignominy, and wrong, and madness, was it not 
hers, in silence and in secret, to mourn over the hopeless bitter- 
ness of that love, and of her own undying affection ? Was he 
not her thought, her dream, her supplication ? 

Tasso resided for three years with his sister, the object of 
her unwearied and tender attention. And now, recalled, it is 
said, by the letters of Leonora, the poet returned to Ferrara. 
Still, hate pursued him — and he was taken, and imprisoned as a 
lunatic at St. Anne's. They show travelers the cell in which 
he was confined. Over the entrance-gallery leading to it, is 
written up in large letters, '' Ingresso alia Prigione di Tor- 
quato Tasso^"^"^ as if to blazon, in the eye of the stranger, what 
is at once the renown and disgrace of that fallen city. The 
cell itself is small, dark, and low. The abhorred grate is a 
semicircular window, strongly cross-barred with iron, which 
looks into a court-yard, so built up that the noon-day sun 
scarcely reaches it. 

A cruel, a most unjust imputation rests on the memory of 
Leonora. She is accused of cold-heartedness in suffering Tasso 
to remain so long imprisoned, without interceding in his favor, 
or even vouchsafing a reply to his affecting supplications for 
release, and for her mediation in his behalf. It was from this 
cell that Tasso addressed that affecting Canzone to Leonora, 
and her sister Lucrezia, which begins, " Figlie di llenata" — 
" Daughters of llcnce !" Thus, in the very commencement, 



222 LEONORA d'eSTE. 

by this tender and delicate apostrophe, bespeaking their com- 
passion, by awakening the remembrance of their mother, like 
him so long a wretched prisoner. 

Although there exists, we suppose, no written proof that Leo- 
nora pleaded the cause of Tasso, or sought to mitigate his suf- 
ferings ; neither is there any proof of the contrary. If then, 
we do not find her publicly appearing as his benefactress, and 
using her influence over her brother in his behalf, is it not a pre- 
sumption that she was implicated in his punishment } We know 
little, or rather nothing of the private intrigues of Alphonso's 
palace ; we have no " memories secretes " of that day — no dia- 
ries kept by prying courtiers, to enlighten us on what passed in 
the recesses of the royal apartments. No woman ever loses all 
interest in a lover, even though she have ceased to regard him 
as such, unless he has destroyed that interest through unkind- 
ness, or brutality towards herself; and Leonora, who appears 
on every other occasion so blameless, so tender-hearted, so 
beneficent, would have been incapable of selfishness, or cruelty, 
or even of indifierence, to a lover like Tasso. What comfort 
or kindness she could have granted, must, under the circum- 
stances, have been bestowed with infinite precaution ; and, from 
gratitude and discretion, carefully concealed. We know that 
after the first year of his confinement, Tasso was removed to a 
less gloomy prison ; and we know that Leonora died a few weeks 
afterwards ; but what share she might have had in procuring 
this mitigation of his sufi"ering, we do not know, nor how far 
the fate of Tasso might have afi'ected her so as to hasten her 
own death. 

After the removal of Tasso to this larger cell, he made a col- 
lection of his smaller poems lately written, and dedicated them 
to the two Princesses. But Leonora was no longer in a state to 



LEONORA d'eSTE. 223 

be charmed by the verses, or flattered or touched by the admir- 
ing devotion of her lover — her poet — her faithful servant : she 
was dying. A slow and cureless disease preyed on her delicate 
frame, and she expired in the second year of Tasso's imprison- 
ment. When the news of her danger was brought to him, he 
requested his friend Pignarola to kiss her hand in his name, and 
to ask her whether there was anything which, in his sad state, 
he could do for her ease or pleasure ? We do not know how 
this tender message was received or answered ; but it was too 
late. Leonora died in February, 1581, after lingering from the 
November previous. 

Thus perished, of a premature decay, the woman who had 
been for seventeen years the idol of a poet's imagination — the 
worship of a poet's heart ; she who was not unworthy of being 
enshrined in the rich tracery-work of sweet thoughts and bright 
fancies she had herself suggested. The love of Tasso for the 
Princess Leonora might have appeared, in his own time, some- 
thing like the " desire of the moth for the star ;" but what is it 
710W 1 — what was it then in the eyes of her whom he adored } 
How far was it permitted, encouraged, and repaid in secret } 
This we cannot know ; and perhaps had we lived in the time — 
in the very Court, and looked daily into her own soft eyes, prac- 
ticed to conceal — we had been no wiser. 

When Leonora died, all the poets of Ferrara pressed forward 
with the usual tribute of elegy and eulogium ; but the voice of 
Tasso was not heard among the rest. lie alone flung no garland 
on the bier of her whose living brow he had wreathed with the 
brightest flowers of song. This is adduced by Serassi as a proof 
that he had never loved her. Ginguine himself can only account 
for it, by the presumption that he was piqued by that coldness 
and neglect, which, we have seen, was merely suppositious. 



224 



Strange reasoning ! as if Tasso, wliile his heart bled over his loss, 
in his solitary cell, could have deigned to join this crowd of 
courtly mourners ! — as if, under such circumstances, in such a 
moment, the greatness of his grief could have burst forth in 
any terms that must not have exposed him to fresh rigors, and 
the fame, at least the discretion of her he had loved, to sus- 
picion. No : nothing remained to him but silence — and he was 
silent. 



6^fi|eiri^e ftlexleb^^. 



EMPRESS OF RUSSIA 

On the morning of the 20th of August, 1702, the Eussian can- 
non began to batter in breach of the old ramparts of Marienburg. 
Shermetoff commanded the besieging army. He had been sent 
by Peter the Great to avenge the humiliations inflicted upon the 
Russians, during the preceding year, at Narva, and in Poland ; 
and about a month before the period at which this narrative 
commences, he had defeated the Swedish army under the com- 
mand of Slippenbach. Marienburg surrendered at discretion 
in a few hours, and the Russians, exasperated at the store-houses 
and magazines having been set on fire, put the Swedish garrison 
to the sword, and made the inhabitants prisoners — a lot much 
worse in those days than death ; for it was a condition of 
slavery. Among the captives, all of whom were casting a linger- 
ing look at the homes from which they were now driven, was a 
Lutheran minister, attended by three young girls. One of 
these was strikingly handsome. She had just been discovered 
by the Russian soldiers concealed in an oven, in which her fi ight 
had led her to seek refuge. The family was brought before 
General Bauer, Sheremetofi*'s lieutenant, who was surprised at 
the beauty- of the eldest girl. 

" Thy name .^" said he, in a harsh voice to the minister. 

" Gluck." 

" Thy religion .^" 

^' Lutheran." 



228 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

'' Why did thy daughter hide herself ? Thinkest thou that 
we refuse our protection to the weak and innocent ?" 

" The young girl of whom you speak," the trembling minis- 
ter replied, '' is not a member of my family. I love her as my 
child ; but she is a stranger to my blood." 

'' Oh ! oh !" muttered the general, with an expressive look. 
'' Who is she then .^" 

" The daughter of poor peasants, who dwelt in the neighbor- 
hood of Derpt, in Livonia. I took charge of her when her 
mother died, and have taught her the little I know. Her name 
is Martha Alfendey." 

'' 'Tis well ! You may retire. As for you," said the gene- 
ral, addressing the young girl, ''remain here." 

Instead of obeying this command, she clung to the arm of her 
protector. 

'' G-eneral," said the minister, '' Martha was married this 
morning ; the ceremony had just been performed when the firing 
began." 

Bauer laughed, and repeated his order. Resistance was im- 
possible. The pastor withdrew, and the poor girl remained 
with her future master ; for she was now a slave, and the slave 
too of a man who in a few years was to become her subject. 

This young female, as the reader may have already anticipated, 
was Catherine — a name she afterwards assumed, together with 
that of Alexiewna, when she embraced the tenets of the Grreek 
Church. In the present narrative, I shall give her no other. 

Catherine was eminently beautiful ; and there was an extreme 
fascination in her look and smile. After a short period of ser- 
vice, Bauer thought he might advance his own interests by 
making a present of his fair slave to Sheremetoflf. He accordingly 
dressed her after the Bussian fashion, and presented her to the 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 229 

marshal J with whom she remained some time. But Menzicoff, 
then all powerful with the Czar, having seen her by chance, 
offered to purchase her ; and Sheremetoff, whether from indiffer- 
ence, or because he was desirous of making a merit of his com- 
pliance, sent her as a free offering to the prince. Thus, in less 
than two years, Catherine became the property of three different 
masters. 

Menzicoff, one day, had to entertain the Czar. Peter loved 
to give such marks of his royal favor ; that cost him nothing, 
and, in a country like Russia, were highly prized. Seated at a 
table loaded with a profusion of gold plate, sparkling crystal, 
and the finest linen of Holland and Saxony, trimmed with Brus- 
sels lace, the Czar was in that joyous mood to which he some- 
times yielded when the thorns of his diadem tore his brow or 
the weight of his sceptre tired his arm. He wore on that day a 
coat of very coarse cloth, cut after his own fashion ; for he affected 
a simplicity of attire very much out of keeping with the oriental 
magnificence he was fond of displaying. His mirth was always 
boisterous ; and in the midst of a loud peal of laughter he sud- 
denly stopped, replaced upon the table the chased goblet he 
held in his hand, and followed with his eyes a young, beautiful 
and elegantly-dressed female, who had just poured wine into his 
cup, smiling with respectful modesty as she performed the office. 
Peter thought he never beheld so fascinating a creature. 

"Who is that woman .^" said he to the favorite. 

" My slave, dread lord," replied the trembling prince. 

'' Thy slave !" cried Peter, in a voice of thundef ; then in a 
mild tone, almost in a whisper, he added, " I will purchase thy 
slave. What is her price .^" 

" I shall consider myself most fortunate," Menzicoff replied, 
'' if your majesty will vouchsafe to accept her." 



230 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

The same day, Catherine was taken to a house in a remote 
part of Moscow. Menzicoff was in hopes that the Czar would 
take but little notice of his new acquisition, and that his slave 
would ultimately be sent back to him ; but the fair captive had 
caught a glimpse of her future greatness, and soon brought into 
play that energy of genius which ultimately placed the imperial 
crown upon her head. The powers of her mind and her ex- 
traordinary talents became known throughout Kussia, long 
before she appeared as the savior, not only of the empire, but 
of the honor of Peter's throne. At first the Czar visited her 
only occasionally ; soon, however, not a day passed without his 
seeing her ; and ultimately he took his ministers to her house, 
and transacted all the business of the state in her presence, 
frequently consulting her and taking her advice upon the most 
knotty difficulties. Her cheerfulness, her mildness of temper, 
and especially her energy of mind, so congenial with his own, 
filled up the void left in his heart by former disappointments. 
His first wife, Eudocia Lapoukin, had proved faithless, and he 
had repudiated her. He afterwards wished to wed the beautiful 
Anne Moens, who refused the proff'ered honor, because she still 
considered him the husband of another. In his intercourse 
with Catherine, he therefore yielded to a deep and overwhelm- 
ing passion, which seemed likely to compensate for former suf- 
ferings. It was not long before he contracted a secret marriage 
with his lovely slave, and in the enjoyment of her afiection his 
heart recovered its tone, and he was happy. 

In this Almost unknown retreat, Catherine bore him two 
daughters — Anna, born in 1708, and Elizabeth, born in 1709. 
From this time the power of the fair captive of Marienburg was 
acknowledged throughout the empire, and she found herself 
strong enough to show Russia that she was indeed its sovereign. 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 231 

She was aware that the Czarowitz x\lexis, Peter's son by Eudocia, 
hated her ; yet she never attempted to widen the breach be- 
tween him and the Czar. She also knew that Eudocia was 
intriguing against her, but she never thought of revenge ; for 
she had a soul worthy of her high destiny — a soul truly great, 
and standing out in such prominent relief as to throw many of 
her errors into the shade. 

Her power over the Czar was greatly strengthened by her 
having become necessary to his existence. From his infancy, 
Peter had been subject to convulsions, which often endangered 
his life ; this complaint was attributed to the effects of poison 
administered by an ambitious sister. During these attacks, his 
sufferings were intense ; and before and after they came on, he 
was seized with mental uneasiness and throbbing of the heart, 
which threw him into a state of the most gloomy despondency. 
Catherine found means, by her attentions, to assuage his suf- 
ferings ; she had also magic words at command to soothe his 
mind. Whenever, therefore, he found one of his attacks coming 
on, he sought the society of the sorceress, whose voice and look 
charmed away his pain ; and he ever found her kind and affec- 
tionate, ready to minister to his comfort, and pour balm upon 
his anguish. 

Hitherto Catherine had appeared to Peter only as a fond 
and fascinating woman ; but the time was near at hand when 
he found that she had a soul of the most dauntless heroism. 

The battle of Pultawa had been fought, and Charles XII. 
defeated, abandoned, and almost unattended, was in rapid flight 
toward Turkey. The Swedish monarch had left Saxony at 
the head of forty-five thousand men, and was afterwards joined 
by the Livonian army under Lewenhaupt, amounting to sixteen 
tliousand more. ]3ut the Russians were superior in numbers. 



232 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

The slaughter on this memorable day was dreadful. The 
Swedes seemed panic-struck ; they lost nine thousand killed, and 
sixteen thousand prisoners. Lewenhaupt, with fourteen thousand 
men, laid down his arms to ten thousand Russians. 

Peter followed up his victory ; but, like a great and generous 
monarch, wrote to Charles XII., entreating him not to go to 
Turkey in search of assistance from the enemies of Christianity, 
but to trust him, and he would prove a good brother. This 
letter, it is said, concluding with an offer of peace, was dictated 
by Catherine. But it was dispatched too late — Charles had 
already crossed the Dnieper. 

The Czar soon seized upon the advantages which this success 
of his arms placed at his disposal. He concluded a treaty with 
Prussia, laid siege to Eiga, restored the kingdom of Poland to 
the Elector of Saxony, and ratified the treaty with Denmark. 
Having at length completed his measure for the further 
humiliation of Sweden, he returned to Moscow, to make pre- 
parations for the triumphal entry of his army into that capital. 

The year 1710 was opened with this solemnity. It was 
truly a noble sight, and calculated to give the Russian people 
an exalted idea of their strength as a nation. The greatest 
magnificence was displayed in the ceremony. Seven splendid 
triumphal arches were erected for the vanquished to pass under ; 
and as an act of jpresence^ and to prove the defeat not only of a 
rival monarch but of a whole nation, the Swedish artillery and 
standards, and the litter of the fugitive king, appeared in the 
procession. The Swedish ministers and troops who had been 
made prisoners, advanced on foot, followed by the most favored 
troops of Peter's army, on horseback, the generals each accord- 
ing to his rank, and the Czar in his place as major-general. 
A deputation from the different bodies of the state was stationed 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 233 

at each triumphal arch, and at the last came a troop of young 
noblemen, the sons of the principal boyards, clad in Roman 
dresses, who presented crowns of laurel to the emperor. 

At this period war was extending its miseries throughout 
Europe. Denmark was preparing to invade Sweden ; whilst 
France, Holland, Italy, Portugal, Germany, and England, had 
drawn the sword to contend for the inheritance of Charles II. 
of Spain. The w^iole of the North was in arms against Charles 
XII. Nothing now remained, but a war with Turkey, to involve 
every province in Europe in strife and bloodshed ; and this 
soon occurred. 

Peter's glory was at its zenith when Achmet III. commenced 
hostilities against him. Charles flattered himself that the Sultan 
had decided upon this course to avenge the defeat of the 
Swedes ; but Achmet was actuated solely by his own in- 
terest. 

The Czar lost no time in taking his measures. Having dis- 
patched Appraxin to Asoph to take the command of the fleet and 
land forces, he constituted a senate of regency, made an appeal 
to the loyalty of the young nobles of Eussia, and sent forward 
the four regiments of his guards. When all was ready, he issued 
a proclamation, calling upon the Russian nation to acknowledge 
a new Czarian. This was no other than Catherine, the orphan, 
brought up by the Lutheran minister, and the captive of Marien- 
burg. He now declared his marriage, and d^ignated her as 
his consort. She set out with the Czar on his expedition against 
the Turks ; and, being constantly near his person, redoubled 
her soothing attentions on the march, during which Peter had 
several severe returns of his complaint. He was soon in the 
presence of Baltagi-Mohammed, having advanced by the fron- 
tiers of Poland, and crossed the Dnieper in order to disengage 



234 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

Slieremetoff. On reaching the river he entreated Catherine 
not to follow him to the opposite bank. 

'' Our two destinies form but one life," she replied. " Where 
you are, there must I be also." 

Ever-pleasing, good-humored, and affable, she became the 
delight and pride of the soldiers. She seldom used her car- 
riage, but was generally on horseback by Peter's side ; and she 
endured the same privations as the lowest officer in the army. 
Though frequently overcome with fatigue, her attentions and 
kindness to the sick officers and men were unremitting. She 
sent them assistance, paid them visits, and then returned to the 
Czar, dissipating by her smiles the clouds that gathered on his 
brow as his danger became greater and more imminent. In 
this way they reached the banks of the Pruth. 

The situation of the Eussian army at length became so 
critical as to call forth all the resources of Peter's skill and 
energy. His communications with General Renne were cut off, 
and his provisions exhausted. Prodigious swarms of locusts 
alighted and destroyed all traces of vegetation ; and water was 
so scarce that none could be obtained, except by drawing it 
from the river under a heavy fire from the Turkish artillery. 

Peter, in despair at finding himself in a situation even worse 
perhaps than that to which he had reduced Charles XII. at 
Pultawa, determined upon a retreat. But Baltagi-Mohammed 
having come u|^with him, Peter's regiment of the Preobasin- 
ski guards sustained the attack of the whole Turkish army, 
which lasted for several hours. Night came on, and the 
Russians, overcome with fatigue, were unable to continue their 
retreat. 

Two Swedish generals were employed in the grand vizier's 
army — ^Count Poniatowski, father of him who was afterwards 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 235 

king of Poland, and the Count of Sparre. The former advised 
that Peter's supplies should be cut off, and the Eussian army be 
thus compelled to surrender or die of starvation ; the latter 
urged an immediate attack upon the Czar's discouraged troops, 
who might easily be cut to pieces. 

On the following day, the Russians were surrounded on all 
sides. The hostile armies were engaged several hours, during 
which eight thousand Russians withstood the attack of a hundred 
and fifty thousand Turks, killing seven thousand of them, and 
ultimately forcing them back. The armies then intrenched 
themselves for the night. The Russians suffered dreadfully for 
want of water ; the men who were sent to fetch it, fell dead 
upon the banks of the river under the grape-shot of the Turkish 
artillery. Meantime, Peter was striding with hurried steps 
within the space which his soldiers had intrenched with all the 
wagons they could muster. Discouragement was but too 
evident upon every brow, and the Czar clearly perceived that 
the noble army of which he was so proud, and upon which his 
fortunes now depended, had no other prospect than starvation or 
slavery. 

He returned to his tent in an agony of grief difficult to 
describe, and gave orders that no one should be allowed to 
enter. His reason was all but gone ; for he was at this moment 
under one of those attacks to which he was subject whenever 
his mind was greatly excited. Seated at a table upon which he 
had laid his sword, he seemed overcome by the weight of his 
misfortunes. On a sudden he started — he had heard his name 
called ; a gentle hand pressed his — Catherine stood by his 
side. 

" I had given orders that nobody should enter," said Peter 
angrily ; '' why have you presumed to disobey them .^" 



236 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

'' Sucli orders cannot surely extend to me," replied Catherine 
with mildness. " Can y.ou deprive the woman, who ever since 
the opening of the campaign has shared all yom- dangers, of the 
right to talk to you about your army, composed of your subjects, 
of which she is one ?" 

The words uttered with solemnity, and in that sotte voce 
which woman alone can assume, made a strong impression upon 
the Czar. He threw his arms round Catherine, and placing his 
head upon her bosom, moaned piteously. 

" Why, Catherine, hast thou come hither to see me die } — for 
to die I am resolved ; I will never submit to be dragged along 
in triumph by those unbelievers." 

" Thou hast no right to die, Peter," said Catherine, in the 
same mild and solemn tone, though her heart throbbed vio- 
lently — and she had great difficulty to restrain her tears ; '^ thy 
life is not thine own. Wouldst thou, moreover, leave the road 
to Moscow open, so that Mahommed may proceed thither and 
take thy daughters to grace his master's harem .^" 

" Great God !" exclaimed the Czar, starting back. 

'^ Or wouldst thou let him go to Petersburg, thy well-beloved 
city, and himself execute that which he requires of thee .?" 

" No !" said Peter, seizing his sword ; ''he shall not go 
thither — I am still alive to prevent it." 

" Thou art beside thyself, Peter," Catherine continued ; 
" thou knowest not what thou dost. I am but a woman — a 
simple ignorant woman ; but I love thee, not only because thou 
hast raised me from the lowly state of a peasant and a slave to 
the dignity of thy consort, but for thine own glory. I also love 
the Russian people, and am resolved to save you both. Hear 
me!" 

Subjugated by Catherine's manner and the greatness of soul 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 237 

whicli beamed from lier countenance, the Czar gazed upon her 
in astonishment. Ah^eady calmed by her words of mingled 
tenderness and energy, he placed her by his side and prepared to 
listen to her. She immediately began, and with great precision 
and clearness developed the plan she had formed ever since the 
critical situation of the army had led her to suppose that every 
ordinary resource would fail. Peter assented to all she pro- 
posed, and Catherine lost not an instant in carrying her project 
into execution. She collected together the few jewels she had 
brought with her on an expedition free from all unnecessary 
splendor of attire, and selected an officer, upon whose talents 
and presence of mind she could depend, to carry them as a 
present to the grand-vizier ; she likewise added, for the Kiaja, 
all the ready money she could collect. These preparations 
being made, she sent for Sheremetoff, and made him write a 
letter to Baltagi-Mohammed. Norberg, chaplain to Charles 
XII., has stated, in his history of that monarch, that the letter 
was written by the Czar himself, and couched in the most abject 
terms. This is untrue ; it was written by Sheremetoff, in his 
own name, and not only with becoming dignity, but each ex- 
pression was so measured as to prevent the grand-vizier from 
forming a suspicion of the extreme state rto which the Russian 
army was reduced. Sheremetoff wrote under the dictation of 
Catherine, herself unable to write, but whose instinctive genius 
— the real fountain of science — rendered her as superior in 
counsel, as she was in energy of mind. 

For some hours Mohammed made no reply, and the Turkish 
artillery continued to scatter its missiles along the banks of the 
river. As the sun sank towards the horizon, the anxiety in the 
Russian camp became intense. Catherine, ever active, was 
almost at the same time soothino; and cncouracrino; Potcr and 



238 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

scattering her magic words of heroism among the officers and 
men of his army. She seemed every where at once, and all 
were animated by her presence. She pointed out to the troops 
their sovereign, as he passed along, sorrowing at their sorrow, 
and unhappy at their misfortunes ; she urged them to assuage 
his grief, by showing him that their courage remained unshaken. 
Her words were electrical : the ministers and generals soon sur- 
rounded Peter, and, in the name of the whole army, demanded 
to cross the Pruth immediately. Ten of the oldest generals 
held a council of war, at which Catherine presided, and the fol- 
lowing resolution, proposed by her, was signed and presented to 
the Czar : — 

" Should the enemy refuse the conditions proposed by Mar- 
shal Sheremetoff, and dare to call upon us to lay down our 
arms, it is the unanimous opinion of the army, its generals, and 
the imperial ministers of state, that we should cut our way 
through them." 

In consequence of this resolution, the baggage was surrounded 
by an intrenchment, and the Ptussians had already advanced 
within a hundred yards of the Turkish army, when the grand- 
vizier published a suspension of arms. Viee-Chancellor Schaf- 
firoff was immediately dispatched to the Turkish camp, nego- 
tiations were begun, and the honor of the Russian arms remained 
without a blemish. A treaty of peace was soon after concluded 
at Falksen, a village on the banks of the Pruth. A disagree- 
ment about a clause of the treaty led to an answer from Peter 
which may efface many blood-stained lines in his history. 

Prince Cantemir, a subject of the Ottoman Porte, was under 
the protection of Russia, and Mohammed insisted upon his being 
given up. In reply to Schaffiroff, Peter wrote as follows : — 

'^ I would rather give up to the Turks all the country as far 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 239 

as Zurzka, because I should have hopes of being able to recover 
it ; but the loss of my faith would be irretrievable. We sove- 
reigns have nothing we can properly call our own, except our 
honor, and were I to forfeit that, I should cease to be a king." 

Cantemir was therefore not given up. 

Just as the treaty was ready for signature, Charles XII. 
arrived at the Turkish camp, and vented bitter reproaches on 
Mohammed, who treated him w^ith the most cutting indifference. 

'' If I had taken the Czar prisoner," said the viceroy of Stam- 
boul, with a smile of bitter irony, '' who would there be to govern 
in his stead } It is not right that every sovereign should quit 
his dominions." 

Charles, forgetful of the dignity not only of the monarch but 
of the man, tore the vizier's robe with his spurs, which Moham- 
med, in his superiority over the royal adventurer, feigned not to 
perceive. He left it to Providence to inflict its will upon 
Charles's brilliant and tumultuous life, and to complete that les- 
son of adversity which had begun at Pultawa, where the Swedish 
king was vanquished by Menzicoff, originally a pastj:'y -cook's 
boy, and continued on the banks of the Pruth, where Baltagi- 
Mohammed, once a slave and a hewer of wood, decided on the 
fate of three empires. 

Subsequently, the revenge of the man of the seraglio was 
more characteristic. He withdrew the pension which the Porte 
allowed its royal guest, and gave him orders, couched in the 
form of advice, to quit the Turkish empire. This led to the 
well-known affair at Bender. 

Charles XII. has accused the grand-vizier of incapacity. This 
is an error grafted on the prejudice of hatred ; for Mahommed 
was a man of high talents, and to every reflecting mnid the 
sound policy of his conduct on Ihis occasion is evident. All the 



240 CATHERINE ALEXTEWNA. 

writers of the Swedish party accuse him of having received a 
bribe to betray his trust. This is equally absurd. The jewels 
sent him by Catherine were a mere compliance with an eastern 
custom, which requires that a present should always precede the 
demand of an audience, and were not of sufficient value to tempt 
him to become a traitor, even were he so disposed. The charge 
is as devoid of foundation as that, in 1805, General Mack 
received a large sum for his surrender at Ulm. A minister of 
state or an eminent general has the eyes of the whole world fixed 
upon him, and if he descend to such an act of baseness, they are 
sure to be discovered. When, therefore, no positive evidence 
is adduced, such imputations ought to be disregarded. In the 
present case, the charge is impossible ; for Peter had no means 
of raising a sum adequate to tempt the cupidity of the grand- 
vizier. 

Peace being concluded, the Czar retired by Jassy, and pre- 
pared for the execution of the treaty. Peter's life was now less 
agitated, but his complaint returned so frequently, and with such 
aggravated symptoms, that he began to think his life was draw- 
ing to a close. Then it was that the Czarina seemed to him as 
a consoling angel. A secret melancholy preyed upon his mind, 
occasioned by the check his ambition had received, and made 
dreadful ravages upon his health ; he, therefore, set out for 
Carlsbad, accompanied by Catherine, who now never quitted him. 
On his return, the marriage took place between the Czarowitz 
Alexis and the Princess of Wolfenbuttel. The nuptial cere- 
mony was performed at Torgau, on the 9th of January, 1712. 

Catherine has been accused of exciting Peter's hatred towards 
his son — an odious imputation, which nothing appears to justify. 
The Prince Alexis Petrowitz had always been an object of dis- 
like to his father, and this feeling was greatly aggravated by the 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 241 

prince's own conduct. The time of these scenes has long been 
past, and we may now dispassionately weigh the conduct of 
both father and son. But it is cruelly unjust to impute these 
dissensions to the Czarina, without a single fact to substantiate 
the charge. Catherine was not at Torgau when the prince's 
marriage took place, but at Thorn, in Polish Prussia. An ex- 
cuse had been made to prevent her from being present at the 
ceremony, but it was in no wise connected with her feelings as a 
step-mother. Though Czarina of Russia, she had, nevertheless, 
at that period not been formally acknowledged, and had only 
the title of Highness which rendered her rank too equivocal for 
her name to appear in the marriage contract, or for the rigidity 
of Grerman etiquette to assign her a place in the ceremony suita- 
ble to the wife of the Czar. On the conclusion of the marriage 
Peter sent the young couple to Wolfenbuttel, and proceeded to 
Thorn to fetch Catherine, whom he conducted to Petersburg 
with the dispatch and simplicity that always characterized his 
mode of traveling. 

Some weeks after, and without Catherine having manifested 
the slightest wish on the subject, Peter again formally de- 
clared his marriage, and on the l9th of February, 1712, she was 
regularly proclaimed Czarina. Though in consequence of the 
disasters of the late war, the ceremony on this occasion was less 
magnificent than it would otherwise have been ; it bore, neverthe- 
less, a character of splendor which no other monarch than Peter 
could have imparted to it, especially at that period. This was 
the philosophy displayed by the chief of a great empire, who at 
the very time he had obtained a princely alliance for the heir 
to his throne — for that Czarowitz whose birth was the only ad- 
vantage he possessed — placed as his own consort upon that 
throne an obscure female, a slave captured during the sacking 



242 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

of a towiij but in whom he had found a noble mind and a gene- 
rous heart. There is in his action a real respect for high genius 
— there is, moreover, a grateful sense of kind and useful ser- 
vices which does the greatest honor to the human heart. 

Catherine again became pregnant, and in 1713 gave birth to 
another daughter. She had hoped for a son, as Peter made no 
secret of his wish to have one ; and the disappointment affected 
her so much that she became seriously ill. At length a fresh 
pregnancy was announced, on which occasion Peter instituted 
the order of St. Catherine, and celebrated the event by a tri- 
umphal entry. 

Of all the sights which Peter could give his subjects, this was 
the most pleasing to them. On the present occasion, the officers 
of the Swedish navy, whom the Czar had made prisoners, with 
Rear-admiral Erenschild at their head, were made to pass under 
a triumphal arch which Peter had himself designed, and do 
homage to a half-savage, named Romodanowski, upon whom the 
Czar, in one of his jovial fits, had had conferred the mock-title 
of Czar of Moscow, treating him in public as if he were really 
master of that city, and ordering almost all his decrees to be 
followed. This man, the most rude and brutal of Russians, 
was Peter's court-fool, kept in imitation of the practice in the 
middle ages. Romodanowski had always a frightful bear by 
his side, which he had made his favorite, as he was himself the 
favorite of his imperial master. 

The Czarina was at length delivered of a son. But the Czar's 
pleasure at this event was embittered by the Czarowitz Alexis 
having also a son ; and this rekindled in his bosom those stormy 
passions often so dreadful, even to the objects of his fondest af- 
fection. 

Catherine's confinement interrupted for a time her excursions 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 243 

with the Czar through his dominions, sometimes upon the lakes, 
and sometimes at sea, even during violent storms ; but they were 
resumed on her recovery. Peter had visited every part of Eu- 
rope, like a man anxious to acquire knowledge, and to study 
the manners of different nations. He now resolved to make a 
second tour, and study the manners of courts. Catherine ac- 
companied him to Copenhagen, Prussia, and several of the Ger- 
man principalities. At length Peter saw Amsterdam once more, 
and visited the cottage at Sardam, in which he had long resided 
as a simple shipwright. He, however, reached the Dutch capital 
alone, the Czarina having remained at Schwerin, unwell, and far 
advanced in pregnancy. Some hours after he had left her, she 
was informed that, during his residence at Sardam, he had pas- 
sionately loved a young girl of that place. In alarm at this 
information, she immediately left Schwerin to follow him, not- 
withstanding the intense cold — it being then the month of 
January. On reaching Yesel, the pains of labor came on un- 
expectedly, and she was delivered of a male child, which died 
soon after. In less than twenty-four hours after, she resumed 
her journey, and on the tenth day arrived at Amsterdam. Peter 
at first received her with anger ; but moved by this proof of 
her affection, in which she had risked her life to follow him, he 
soon forgave her. They visited together the cottage at Sardam, 
which had been converted into an elegant and commodious little 
dwelling ; thence they proceeded to the house of a rich ship- 
builder named Kalf, where they dined. Kalf was the first for- 
eigner who had traded with Petersburg, and had thereby won 
the Czar's gratitude. Catherine took great notice of this family, 
because she knew that Peter was pleased at the attentions she 
bestowed upon foreigners of talent in general, and especially 
upon Kalf, to whom he considered himself so greatly indebted. 



244 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

The Czar remained three months in Holland, where he was 
detained by matters of great moment. The European con- 
spiracy of Goetz and Alberoni, in favor of the Stuarts, had 
already extended its ramifications far and wide, and Peter 
deemed it necessary to go to Paris in order to see more clearly 
into the plot. But a too rigorous etiquette would have been 
required for the Czarina, at the French court ; and, being ap- 
prehensive of the trifling and sarcastic wit of the French cour- 
tiers, he was unwilling to expose his consort to that which the 
Livonian peasant and the slave of Menzicoff might have been 
forced to endure. Catherine, therefore, remained in Holland 
during his absence. On his return, he listened very attentively 
to her remarks on the plan of G oetz and Alberoni, and it was 
by her advice that he kept in such perfect measure with all the 
conspirators, leaving them to place their batteries, and reserving 
to himself the power of either using or rendering them nugatory, 
as it might suit his purpose. 

Catherine, at this period, was only thirty-three years of age, 
and as beautiful as on the day when Peter first beheld her. The 
strong feeling then inspired by the young and artless girl, had 
ripened into a sentiment of deep aff'ection identic with his ex- 
istence ; it had become a passion which, in a man like Peter 
the Great, was necessarily exclusive and suspicious. In him, 
jealousy was like a raging fiend — its effects were appalling. 
But I must not anticipate. He continued to travel with Cathe- 
rine by his side, happy at seeing her share his fatigues, not only 
without repining, but with the same smile upon her lips, the 
same sparkle in her eye. Yet the life they both led was as 
simple and as full of privations as that of Charles XII. or the 
King of Prussia. The train of a German bishop was more 
magnificent than that of the sovereigns of Russia. During this 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 245 

journey to Holland, Catherine, to avoid a short separation from 
the Czar, made an excursion with him which lasted ten days, 
during which she had not a single female attendant. It was by 
such attentions that she secured her power over Peter's heart. 

The Czar had originally intended to prolong his journey, and 
proceed to Vienna, whither he had been invited by the Emperor 
of Austria, his son's brother-in-law. But important news from 
Eussia induced him to alter his intention, and return in all haste 
to Petersburg, where the noble qualities of a great monarch 
were soon to disappear, and leave in their room nothing but the 
ferocity of a savage and blood-thirsty Scythian. 

His son, he said, was conspiring against him. But the un- 
happy prince was a mere tool in the hands of the monks, and 
of the old disaiFected boyards who had resisted Peter's measures 
for the civilization of his country. 

Eudocia Theodorowna Lapaukin, Peter's first wife, had been 
educated in the prejudices and superstitions of her age and 
country. Unable to comprehend the great designs of the Czar, 
she had always endeavored to impede them. Her son had been 
allowed constantly to visit her in her retirement, and had im- 
bibed from her the same feelings against his father's innova- 
tions. He considered them sacrilegious and abominable, and 
was led to suppose that his opinions were shared by the whole 
nation. Thus was the bitterest animosity excited between the 
Czar and his son, and attended with those lamentable efi'ects 
which always ensue when the bonds of nature are burst asunder 
by hatred. This feeling, when it exists between a parent and 
his child, ought to have a separate name. 

The Czar's marriage with Catherine had completed the dis- 
affection of the prince, who considered himself a victim destined 
to be sacrified in order to leave the throne free for the children 



246 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

of this new marriage. Haunted by these feelings, and by a 
dread of his father's ultimate projects with regard to himself, 
he sought refuge in debauchery of the lowest and most debasing 
kind, to which indeed he had always been addicted. His life 
was now most brutal and degrading. His marriage, far from 
reclaiming him, had rather increased his evil propensities. His 
wife died from ill-usage, aggravated by the wa.nt of even the 
common necessaries, four years after their union, leaving him 
an only son. 

It was at this period that Peter began to be alarmed at the 
future prospects of Russia. If the nation, scarcely emancipated 
from its savage state, fell under the rule of his son, he foresaw 
the annihilation of all his plans of improvement, and that his 
successor would become the slave of those old boyards with long 
beards, who could not elevate their minds above the rude and 
barbarous customs of their ancestors. This induced him, before 
he set out for Grermany, to write to the Czarowitz, offering him 
his choice of a change of conduct or a cloister. 

The Czar was in Denmark when he heard that his son had 
clandestinely left Russia, and he immediately returned to Mos- 
cow. Alexis, betrayed by his mistress, was arrested at Naples, 
and conducted back to Moscow. On appearing before his irri- 
tated parent, he trembled for his life, and tendered a voluntary 
renunciation of his claims to the throne. 

It has been urged by some writers that the influence of a 
step-mother was but too apparent in the bitterness of Peter's 
feelings toward the Czarowitz. Catherine had a son just born ; 
she had also two daughters, and it was but reasonable that she 
should entertain fears on their account, if Alexis succeeded to 
the throne. And was it natural, they ask, that a father should 
offer his first-born as a sacrifice to fears that might never be 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 247 

realized ? — that he should use the blood of his child as a cement 
to join the stones of his political edifice ? 

But Peter had real grounds of apprehension for the safety of 
the establishments he had created, and was justified in supposing 
that the plans he might leave to be executed by his successor, 
would never be carried into execution. He had spent his life 
in emancipating his country from the lowest state of moral degra- 
dation, and he anticipated the glory to which his empire would 
rise after his death. He, therefore, discarded the feelings of the 
father to assume those of the stern legislator ; and perhaps he 
felt less difficulty in doing so from the brutalized condition of his 
son, whom he had never beheld with afiection. 

On the 14th of February, 1718, the great bell of Moscow 
vibrated its hollow death-knell through the city. The privy 
councillors and boyards were assembled in the Kremlin ; the 
archimandrites, the bishops, and the monks of St. Basil, in the 
cathedral. A vast multitude circulated, in silent consternation, 
through the city, and it went from mouth to mouth that the 
Czarowitz was about to be condemned on the accusation of his 
father. 

Alexis still clung to life, and, in the hope that he might yet 
be allowed to live, tendered a second renunciation of his claims 
to the throne, expressly in favor of Catherine's children. When 
he had signed it, he thought himself safe. How little did he 
know his stern father ! He was conducted to the cathedral, there 
again to hear the act of his exheredation read ; and when he 
had drained the cup of anguish prepared for him, it was filled 
ao;ain and again. But the debased heart of the wretched man 
would not break ; he was unable to feel the full weight of 
infamy heaped upon him. / 

On his return, sentence of death was passed upon him, and 



248 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

he fell into dreadful convulsions, which terminated in apoplexy. 
Before he received the sacrament, he requested to see his father. 
Peter went to his bed-side — unmoved at the groans of the son 
whom his words had stricken with death. For a time the symp- 
toms became milder, but they soon after returned with greater 
violence, and in the evening the prince expired. 

Catherine attended the funeral ; perhaps she did so in com- 
pliance with the Czar's wish ; but it has been imputed to her as 
a sort of savage triumph over the remains of him who was now 
unable ever to come forward and say to her son, " Give me back 
my crown." 

Those anxious to divest her of all blame in this tragical event, 
pretend that she had entreated the Czar to shut up the prince 
in a monastery. But this defence is more injurious than useful ; 
as it shows that, at all events, she advised shutting out from the 
world him whom God had placed upon the steps of the throne 
before her son. On the other hand it is said, that Catherine, 
if she interfered at all, should have used her exertions, even to 
the braving of Peter's wrath, to prevent the condemnation of 
Alexis, for whose life she was more accountable than his own 
mother ; and that she, whose influence over the Czar was un- 
bounded, who could at all times awaken the kindliest emotions 
of his nature, must have succeeded, had she seriously made the 
attempt, in obtaining the prince's pardon. 

But this is mere hypothetical reasoning. Nobody either 
knew, or could know, what passed in private between the Czar 
and his consort, and it is but just to give Catherine the benefit 
of her conduct throughout her whole previous life, no one act 
of which can justify such an imputation. 

I have, however, seen a manuscript, in which it is positively 
asserted, that Catherine was by no means guiltless of the death 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 249 

of Alexis ; and iu support of this statement, it is urged, that her 
power over the Czar was so great as to eradicate the hatred he 
had so long entertained toward Charles XII. Certain it is, 
that Peter followed her advice in most of his great political 
measures ; and it was much more through her exertions, than 
those of Messrs. Groetz and Alberoni, that the famous treaty 
was concluded to restore the Stuarts to the throne of England. 
But is this alone sufficient to stamp her memory with so foul a 
stain ? — and was not the case of the Czarowitz one calculated to 
call forth, with a violence which no influence could repress, all 
the savage ferocity of Peter's character ? 

Scarcely was the treaty concluded against the reigning family 
in England, ere a chance-ball from a culverin killed Charles 
XII. in Frederickshall. This event was soon succeeded by other 
disasters — the Spanish fleet was burned ; the conspiracy of Cel- 
lamarre was discovered in France ; Goetz was beheaded at 
Stockholm, and Alberoni banished from Italy. And of this 
formidable league the Czar alone remained — ^having committed 
himself with none of the conspirators, and yet being master of 
the whole.. It was Catherine who had communicated with Groetz 
in Holland, because, though the Czar wished to avoid speaking 
to him, he was nevertheless anxious to treat. She it was who 
managed the whole business, and in truth she displayed won- 
derful address and diplomatic tact. Soon after the failure of 
the conspiracy, she again rendered the Czar a service almost as 
signal as that on the banks of the Pruth. On the death of 
Charles XII., the negotiations with Sweden were again broken 
ofl*. Though the congress of Aland was not dissolved, the Eng- 
lish and Swedish fleets had united, and hostilities were again 
threatened. The new Queen of Sweden, however, being de- 
sirous of peace, had the Czarina privately spoken to ; and 



250 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

Catherine communicated this to Peter, who, acting upon her 
advice, consented to the holding of a congress at Neustadt, in 
Finland, where peace was concluded on the 10th of September, 
1721. The exertions of Catherine contributed much more to 
bring about this event, than the united talents of the statesmen 
composing the congress. 

Peter was overjoyed at this peace. He was now able to em- 
ploy his numerous armies in cutting roads and canals through 
Russia, and in such other works as formed part of his plans for 
the improvement of his country. The triumphal entries which 
I have before mentioned, were nothing in comparison to the 
rejoicings which took place on this occasion. The prisons were 
thrown open, and all criminals pardoned, except those guilty of 
high treason, to whom the Czar could not consistently extend 
his clemency, after having condemned his son to death for the 
same crime. 

Russia now conferred upon Peter the titles of Father of his 
Country, Great, and Emperor. The Chancellor GrolofFkin, at 
the head of the senate and synod, and speaking in the name of 
all the bodies of the state, saluted him by these titles, in the 
great cathedral. On the same day, the ambassadors of France, 
Germany, England, Denmark, and Sweden, complimented him 
by the same titles. He was now acknowledged Emperor through- 
out Europe ; and strong among the strong, the prosperity of his 
dominions doubled his power. 

"It is my wish," said he one day, to the Archbishop of No- 
vogorod, "to acknowledge by a striking public ceremony all 
the services which Catherine has rendered me. It is she who 
has maintained me in the place I now occupy. She is not 
only my tutelary angel, but that of the Russian empire. She 
shall be anointed and crowned Empress ; and as you are primate 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 251 



of Russia, you shall perform the ceremony of her consecra- 
tion." 

The archbishop bowed. He had long been anxious that Peter 
should revive the patriarchate, and this opportunity seemed 
to him too good to be lost. He, therefore, observed to the 
emperor, that such a ceremony would derive additional splendor 
from being performed by the patriarch of Russia. 

'' Sir," replied Peter, with a frown, '' had I required a 
patriarch in my dominions, I should long since have appointed 
Jotoff,^ who would make a very good one. Catherine shall be 
crowned, and well crowned too — but without a patriarch." 

The archbishop attempted to reply ; but Peter having lifted 
a stick which he always carried, the prelate was silent. 

On the 18th of May, 1724, the ceremony of Catherine's 
coronation took place in the cathedral at Moscow. The de- 
claration made by the emperor on this occasion, after stating 
that several Christian princes, and among others Justinian, Leo 
the philosopher, and St. Heraclius, had crowned their wives in 
the same manner, contained the following words : — 

" And being further desirous of acknowledging the eminent 
services she has rendered us, especially in our war with Turkey, 
when our army, reduced to twenty-two thousand men, had to 
contend with more than two hundred thousand, we crown and 
proclaim her Empress of Russia." 

Peter, always simple in his dress, was pleased to see Catherine 
follow his example ; but no man knew better how to use pomp 
and pageantry when the occasion required it. At this cere- 
mony, Catherine appeared resplendent with gold and jewels, 
and her retinue was wortljy of a great sovereign. One thing 
in it was remarkable — the emperor walked before her on foot, 

* Jotofl" was a half-witted old man, a sort of buffoon. 



252 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

as captain of a company of new body-guards, which he had 
formed under the title of Knights of the Empress. When the 
procession reached the church, he stationed himself by her side, 
and remained there during the whole ceremony. He himself 
placed the crown upon her head. She then attempted to em- 
brace his knees ; but he raised her before her knee had touched 
the ground, and embraced her tenderly. On their return, he 
ordered that the crown and sceptre should be borne before her. 
Catherine had reason to be proud of such a triumph of genius 
over the prejudices of society ; but she was not long to enjoy 
it, for a cruel reverse awaited her, and that reverse was brought 
on by her own folly. 

Catherine owed everything to the emperor, and the benefits 
he had conferred upon her, claimed a strength of gratitude 
never to be shaken. But an offence which she received, and 
the conviction that the emperor had become indifferent to her, 
made her for a moment lose sight of this feeling, and led to the 
deplorable events which I have still to relate. 

One day, whilst the empress was at her toilet, a vice-admiral, 
named Yillebois, a Frenchman in the service of Russia, arrived 
with a message from the emperor. Yiilebois was a man of low 
origin ; he had left nis country to avoid the gallows, and the 
grossness of his habits was such as qualified him to be one of 
Peter's pot-companions. He was completely intoxicated when 
he entered the empress's apartment. This Catherine did not 
at first perceive ; but she made the discovery by receiving from 
Yiilebois one of the grossest insults that can be offered to a 
woman. She demanded vengeance of the emperor for this 
affroiit ; but Peter laughed at it, and merely condemned the 
offender to six months' labor at the galleys. 

The seeming indifference which dictated this sentence, cut 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 253 

her to the soul. She imagined she had lost Peter's affection, 
for it was the only way in which she could account for his not 
punishing more severely the man who had offended her. On 
other occasions he would inflict death for an indiscreet word, 
and here, he had treated with ridicule a gross outrage offered to 
his wife — to that Catherine whom he had once so fondly loved. 
This unfortunate idea having once taken possession of her mind, 
daily gained strength. 

Ever since her coronation, she had an establishment separate 
from that of the emperor. Her lady of the bed-chamber, 
IMadame de Balk, was that same beautiful Anna Moens to 
whom Peter had formerly been attached, and who had refused 
to become Czarina. She had first married the Prussian minister 
Kayserlingen, and after his death, Lieutenant-General Balk. 
Peter had placed her in her present station, and had also 
appointed her brother, Moens de la Croix, chamberlain to the 
empress. Moens was young, handsome, and highly accom- 
plished. The admiration he at first felt for Catherine soon 
ripened into a warmer feeling, and, unhappily, he had but too 
frequent opportunities of seeing her in private. On the other 
hand, the mind of the empress was ill at ease, and needed con- 
solation. This led to a most imprudent intimacy, which, if 
not connected with guilt in Catherine, was, to say the least of 
it, extremely improper. 

By the care of Madame de Balk it remained for a long time 
unperceived. But at length, Jagouchinsky, a contemptible ruf- 
fian, then a favorite of Peter's, and one of the companions of 
his orgies, had a suspicion of it, and determined to watch the 
empress and her chamberlain. Having at length satisfied him- 
self that his conjectures were not unfounded, he boldly declared 
to Peter that Catherine was faithless to his bed. On receiving 



254 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

this intimation, the emperor roared like a raging lion. His 
first idea was to put her and her supposed paramour to death, 
and then stab the informer to the heart, as being acquainted 
with his shame. But, on reflection, he resolved to do nothing 
till he had obtained full evidence of the crime. He, therefore, 
feigned to quit Petersburg, but only retired to his winter 
palace, whence he sent a confidential page to the empress that 
he should be absent two days. 

At midnight he entered a secret gallery of Catherine's palace, 
of which he alone kept the key. Here he passed Madame de 
Balk unperceived, and entered a room where a page, who either 
did not know him or pretended not to know him, attempted to 
stop his progress. Peter knocked him down, and entering the 
next apartment found the empress in conversation with Moens. 
Having approached them, he made an attempt to speak, but 
the violence of his emotion choked his utterance. Casting at 
the chamberlain, and at his sister, who had just entered the 
room, one of those withering glances which speak but too 
plainly, he turned towards Catherine, and struck her so violently 
with his cane that the blood gushed from her neck and shoulder. 
Then rushing out of the room, he ran like a mad-man to the 
house of Prince Eepnin, and burst violently into his bed-room. 

The Prince roused from his sleep, and seeing the emperor 
standing by his bed-side frantic with rage, gave himself up for lost. 

'' Get up," said Peter, in a hoarse voice, '^ and fear nothing. 
Don't tremble, man — thou hast nothing to fear." 

Bepnin rose and heard the emperor's tale. Meantime 
Peter was walking up and down the room, breaking everything 
within his reach. 

'' At day-break," said he, when he had finished his tale, '' I 
will have this ungrateful wanton beheaded." 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 255 

'^ No, sir," replied Repnin with firmness, '' you will give no 
such orders. You will take this matter into further considera- 
tion ; first, because you have been injured, and secondly, be- 
cause you are the absolute master of your subjects. But why, 
sir, should the circumstance be divulged ? — it can answer no 
good purpose. You have revenged yourself upon the Strelitz ; 
you have considered it your duty to condemn your own son to 
death ; and if you now behead the empress, your fame will be 
forever tarnished. Let not each phasis of your reign be marked 
by blood. Let Moens die ; — but the empress ! — would you at 
the very moment you have placed the imperial crown upon her 
head, sever that head } No, sir ! the crown you gave her ought 
to be her safeguard." 

Peter made no reply — he was fearfully agitated. For a con- 
siderable time he kept his eyes sternly fixed upon Repnin, then 
left him without uttering another word. Moens and his sister 
were immediately arrested, and imprisoned in a room of the 
winter-palace. Their food was taken to them by Peter him- 
self, who allowed no other person to see them. 

At length he interrogated Moens in the presence of General 
UschakoiF. Having fixed his eyes upon the chamberlain with a 
disdainful look, he told him that he was accused, as was also his 
sister, of having received presents, and thereby endangered the 
reputation of the empress. 

Moens returned Peter's scowl, and replied : — 

" Your victim is before you, sir. State as my confession 
anything you please, and I will admit all." 

The emperor smiled with convulsive bitterness. Proceedings 
were immediately begun against the brother and sister. Moens 
was condemned to be beheaded — Madame de Balk to receive 
eleven blows with the knout. This lady had two sons, one a 



256 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

page, the other a chamberlain ; both were degraded from their 
rank, and sent to the Persian army to serve as common 
soldiers. 

Catherine threw herself at the emperor's feet to obtain the 
pardon of Madame de Balk, reminding Peter how dearly he had 
once loved Anna Moens. The emperor brutally pushed her 
back, and in his fury broke with a blow of his fist a large and 
beautiful Venitian looking-glass. 

" There," said he, ''it requires only a blow of my hand to 
reduce this glass to its original dust." 

Catherine looked at him with the most profound anguish, and 
replied, in a melting accent, — 

" It is true that you have destroyed one of the greatest orna- 
ments of your palace, but do you think that your palace will be 
improved by it .?" 

This remark rendered the emperor more calm, but he refused 
to grant the pardon. The only thing Catherine could obtain 
was, that the number of blows should be reduced to five. These 
Peter inflicted vnth his own hand. 

Moens died with great firmness. He had in his possession a 
miniature portrait of the empress set in a small diamond brace- 
let. It was not perceived when he was arrested, and he had 
preserved it till the last moment, concealed under his garter, 
whence he contrived to take it unperceived, and deliver it to 
the Lutheran minister who attended him and who exhorted 
him to return it to the empress. 

Peter stationed himself at one of the windows of the senate- 
house, to behold the execution. When all was over, he as- 
cended the scaiFold, and seizing the head of Moens by the hair, 
lifted it up with the ferocious delight of a savage exulting in 
successful revenge. Some hours after he entered the apart- 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 257 

ment of- the empress. He found her pale and care-worn, but 
her eyes were tearless, though her heart was bursting. 

" Come and take a drive," said he, seizing her by the hand 
and dragging her towards an open carriage. When she had 
entered it, he drove her himself to the foot of the pole to which 
the head of her late chamberlain was nailed. 

'' Such is the end of traitors !" he exclaimed — fixing the most 
scrutinizing gaze upon Catherine''s eyes, expecting to see them 
full of tears. But the empress was sufficiently mistress of her 
emotions to appear indifferent to this sight of horror. Peter 
conducted her back to the palace, and had scarcely left her 
when she fell fainting upon the floor. 

From that time until the emperor's last illness, they never 
met except in public. It is said that Peter burnt a will he had 
made, appointing Catherine his successor ; but there is not the 
slightest proof that such a will ever existed. It is also said that 
he stated his determination of having her head shaved and con- 
fining her in a convent, immediately after the marriage of Eliza- 
beth, her second daughter. 

Catherine had a strong party at the Russian court, and was 
extremely popular throughout the empire. The army was 
wholly devoted to her ; both officers and men had seen her 
among them sharing their dangers and privations, and she was 
their idol. A measure of such extreme harshness would, per- 
haps, have endangered Peter's own power, and exposed him to 
great personal danger. Menzicoff, an able and clear-sighted 
statesman, in whom the empress had great confidence, was at 
the head of her party, and ready to support her in any measures 
she might take for her personal safety. But the violent agita- 
tion to which Peter had been lately a prey, and the shock he 
had received from supposing Catherine faithless to his bed, 



258 CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 

brought on one of those attacks which had often before placed 
his life in jeopardy. This time, the symptoms appeared so ag- 
gravated, that the physicians lost all hope. The convulsions 
succeeded each other with frightful rapidity, and the life of 
Peter the Great was soon beyond the power of human art. On 
receiving intimation of his illness, Catherine immediately has- 
tened to his bed-side, which she no longer quitted. She sat up 
with him three successive nights, without taking any rest during 
the day, and on the 28th of January, 1725, he expired in her 
arms. 

Peter had been unable to speak from the moment his com- 
plaint took a fatal turn. He, however, made several attempts 
to write, but unsuccessfully ; and the following words alone 
could be made out : — 

"Let everything be delivered to " 

Meanwhile, Menzicoff had taken his measures to secure the 
throne for Catherine, whose son had died in 1719. He seized 
upon the treasury and the citadel, and the moment Peter's 
death was announced, he proclaimed the Empress under the 
name of Catherine I. He encountered but little opposition, 
and the great majority of the nation hailed her accession to the 
throne as a blessing. 

The beginning of her reign was glorious, for she religiously 
followed the intentions of Peter. He had instituted the Order 
of St. Alexander Newski, and she conferred it ; he had also 
formed the project of founding an academy, and she founded it. 
She suppressed the rebellion of the Cossacks, and there is no 
doubt that, if she had lived, her reign would have been re- 
markable. But a short time after her accession to the throne, 
she fell into a state of languor, arising from a serious derange- 
ment of her health. The complaint was aggravated by an im- 



CATHERINE ALEXIEWNA. 259 



moderate use of Tokay wine, in which her physicians could not 
prevent her from indulging ; and she died on the 27th of May, 
1727, aged thirty-eight years. 

Catherine was one of the most extraordinary women the world 
has produced. She would have distinguished herself in any 
station. Her soul was great and noble ; her intellect quick 
and capacious. Her total want of education only serves to 
throw a stronger light upon her strength of mind and powerful 
genius. Doubtless there are some passages in her life, which 
might, with advantage, be expunged from her history ; but 
much has been imputed to her, of which she was guiltless. She 
has been taxed with hastening Peter's death, by giving him 
poison. This Voltaire has triumphantly refuted. The impu- 
tation was raised by a party who had espoused the interests of 
the Czarowitz, and were hostile to the improvements introduced 
by Peter. More than a century had elapsed since these events 
took place, and the hatred and prejudices which attended them 
have gradually melted away. Any but a dispassionate examina- 
tion of this heinous charge is now impossible, and it must lead 
to a complete acquittal of Catherine. 



^^H^ liielre^^. 



EMPRESS OE GERMANY, AND QUEEN OE HUNGARY, 

Maria Theresa, of Austria — ^born on the 13tli of May, 
1717 — was the daughter of Charles the Sixth, Emperor of 
Grermany, and Elizabeth Christina, of Brunswick, a lovely and 
amiable woman, who possessed and deserved her husband's 
entire confidence and affection. 

Maria Theresa had beauty, spirit, and understanding. To 
her sister, Marianna, she was tenderly attached. The two arch- 
duchesses were brought up under the superintendence of their 
mother, and received an education in no respect different from 
that of other young ladies of rank of the same age and country. 
In those accomplishments to which her time was chiefly devoted, 
Maria Theresa made rapid progress. She inherited from her 
father a taste for music, which was highly cultivated, and re- 
mained to the end of her life one of her principal pleasures. 
She danced and moved with exquisite grace. Metastasio, who 
taught her Italian, and also presided over her musical studies, 
speaks of his pupil with delight and admiration, and in his 
letters he often alludes to her talent, her docility, and the sweet- 
ness of her manners. Of her progress in graver acquirements 
we do not hear. Much of her time was given to the strict ob- 
servance of the forms of the Roman Catholic faith ; and though 
she could not derive from the bigoted old women and ecclesias- 
tics around her any very enlarged and enlightened ideas of 
religion, her piety was at least sincere. She omitted no oppor- 



^^ 



264 MARIA THERESA. 

tunities of obtaining information relative to the history and 
geography of her country ; and she appears to have been early 
possessed with a most magnificent idea of the power and 
grandeur of her family, and of the lofty rank to which she was 
destined. This early impression of her own vast importance 
was only counterbalanced by her feelings and habits of devotion, 
and by the natural sweetness and benignity of her disposition. 
Such was Maria Theresa at the age of sixteen or seventeen. 
She had been destined from her infancy to marry the young 
Duke of Lorraine, who was brought up in the court of Vienna, 
as her intended husband. It is very, very seldom that these 
political state-marriages terminate happily, or harmonize with 
the wishes and feelings of those principally concerned ; but in 
the present case '' the course of true love" was blended with 
that of policy. Francis Stephen of Lorraine was the son of 
Leopold, Duke of Lorraine, surnamed the Good and Benevolent. 
His grandmother, Leonora of Austria, was the eldest sister of 
Charles YI., and he was consequently the cousin of his intended 
bride. Francis was not possessed of shining talents, but he had 
a good understanding and an excellent heart ; he was, besides, 
eminently handsome, indisputably brave, and accomplished in 
all the courtly exercises that became a prince and a gentleman. 
In other respects his education had been strangely neglected ; 
he could scarcely read or write. From childhood the two 
cousins had been fondly attached, and their attachment was 
perhaps increased, at least on the side of Maria Theresa, by 
those political obstacles which long deferred their union, and 
even threatened at one time a lasting separation. Towards the 
end of his reign the affairs of Charles VI., through his imbe- 
cility and misgovernment, fell into the most deplorable, the 
most inextricable confusion. Overwhelmed by his enemies, 



MARIA THERESA. 265 

unaided by his friends and allies, he absolutely entertained the 
idea of entering into a treaty with Spain, and offering his daugh- 
ter Maria Theresa, in marriage to Prince Charles, the heir of 
that monarchy. 

But Maria Theresa was not of a temper to submit quietly to 
an arrangement of which she was to be made the victim ; she 
remonstrated, she wept, she threw herself for support and assist- 
ance into her mother's arms. The empress, who idolized her 
daughter and regarded the Duke of Lorraine as her son, in- 
cessantly pleaded against this sacrifice of her daughter's happi- 
ness. The English minister at Vienna* gives the following 
lively description of the state of affairs at this time, and of the 
feelings and deportment of the young archduchess : — ^' She is," 
says Mr. Robinson, '^ a princess of the highest spirit ; her 
father's losses are her own. She reasons already ; she enters 
into affairs ; she admires his virtues, but condemns his misman- 
agement ; and is of a temper so formed for rule and ambition, 
as to look upon him as little more than her administrator. 
Notwithstanding this lofty humor, she sighs and pines for her 
Duke of Lorraine. If she sleeps, it is only to dream of him — 
if she wakes, it is but to talk of him to the lady in waiting ; so 
that there is no more probability of her forgetting the very in- 
dividual government and the very individual husband which she 
thinks herself born to, than of her forgiving the authors of her 
losing either." 

Charles YI., distracted and perplexed by the difficulties of 
his situation, by the passionate grief of his daughter, by the re- 
monstrances of his wife and the rest of his family, and without 
spirit, or abilities, or confidence in himself or others, became a 
pitiable object. During the day, and while transacting business 

♦ Mr. Robinson, afterward the first Lord Grantham of his family. 



266 MARIA THERESA. 

with his ministers, he maintained his accustomed dignity and 
formality ; but in the dead of the night, in the retirement of his 
own chamber, and when alone with the empress, he gave way 
to such paroxysms of affliction, that not his health only, but his 
life was endangered, and his reason began to give way. A 
peace with France had become necessary on any terms, and 
almost at any sacrifice ; and a secret negotiation was com- 
menced with Cardinal Fleury, then at the head of the French 
government, under (or, more properly speaking, over) Louis the 
Fifteenth. By one of the principal articles of this treaty, the 
Duchy of Lorraine was to be given up to France, and annexed 
to that kingdom ; and the Duke of Lorraine was to receive, in 
lieu of his hereditary possessions, the whole of Tuscany. The 
last Grand Duke of Tuscany of the family of the Medici, the 
feeble and degenerate Cosmo III., was still alive, but in a state 
of absolute dotage, and the claims of his heiress, Anna de' 
Medici, were to be set aside. Neither the inhabitants of Lor- 
raine nor the people of Tuscany were consulted in this arbitrary 
exchange. A few diplomatic notes between Charles's secretary 
Bartenstein and the crafty old cardinal, settled the matter. It 
was in vain that the government of Tuscany remonstrated, and 
in vain that Francis of Lorraine overwhelmed the Austrian 
ministers with reproaches, and resisted, as far as he was able, 
this impudent transfer of his ovm people and dominions to a 
foreign power. Bartenstein had the insolence to say to him, 
'' Monseigneur, point de cession, point d'archiduchesse." 

Putting love out of the question, Francis could not determine 
to stake his little inheritance against the brilliant succession 
which awaited him with Maria Theresa. The alternative, how- 
ever, threw him into such agony and distress of mind, that even 
his health was seriously affected. But peace was necessary to 



MARIA THERESA. 267 

the interests, and even to the preservation of the empire. 
Lorraine was given up, and the reversion of the grand- 
duchy of Tuscany settled upon Francis.'^ The preliminaries 
of this treaty being signed, in 1735, the emperor was re- 
lieved from impending ruin, and his daughter from all her 
apprehensions of the Prince of Spain ; and, no further obsta- 
cles intervening, the nuptials of Maria Theresa and Francis 
of Lorraine were celebrated at Vienna in February, 1736. 
By the marriage contract the Pragmatic Sanction was again 
signed and ratified, and the Duke of Lorraine solemnly bound 
himself never to assert any personal right to the Austrian 
dominions. The two great families of Hapsburgh and Lor- 
raine, descended from a common ancestor, were by this mar- 
riage re-united in the same stock. 

Prince Eugene, who had commanded the imperial armies for 
nearly forty years, died a few days after the marriage of Maria 
Theresa, at the age of seventy-three. His death was one of the 
greatest misfortunes that could have occurred at this period, 
both to the emperor and the nation. 

A young princess, beautiful and amiable, the heiress of one 
of the greatest monarchies in Europe, married at the age of 
eighteen to the man whom she had long and deeply loved, and 
who returned her affection, and soon the happy mother of two 
fair infants, presents to the imagination as pretty a picture of 
splendor and felicity as ever was exhibited in romance or fairy 
tale ; but when we turn over the pages of history, or look into 
real life, everywhere we behold the hand of a just Providence 
equalizing the destiny of mortals. 

During the four years which elapsed between Maria Theresa's 

♦ Tuscany has ever since remained in the family of Lorraine ; the present 
Grand-duke Leopold II. is the great-grandson of Francis 



268 MARIA THERESA. 

marriage and her accession to the throne, her life was 
embittered by anxieties arising out of her political position. 
Her husband was appointed generalissimo of the imperial armies 
against the Turks, in a war which both himself and Maria 
Theresa disapproved. He left her in the first year of their 
marriage, to take the command of the army, and more than once 
too rashly exposed his life. Francis had more bravery than 
military skill. He was baffled and hampered in his designs by 
the weak jealousy of the emperor and the cabals of the 
ministers and generals. All the disasters of two unfortunate 
campaigns were imputed to him, and he returned to Vienna 
disgusted, irritated, sick at heart, and suffering from illness. 
The court looked coldly on him ; he was impopular with the 
nation and with the soldiery ; but his wife received him with 
open arms, and, with a true woman's tenderness, '' loved him 
for the dangers he had passed." She nursed him into health, 
she consoled him, she took part in all his wrongs and feelings, 
and was content to share with him the frowns of her father and 
the popular dislike. They were soon afterward sent into a kind 
of honorable exile into Tuscany, under pretence of going to 
take possession of their new dominions, and in their absence it 
was publicly reported that the emperor intended to give his 
second daughter to the Elector of Bavaria, to change the order 
of succession in her favor, and disinherit Maria Theresa. The 
archduchess and her husband were more annoyed than alarmed 
by these reports, but their sojourn at Florence was a period of 
constant and cruel anxiety. 

Maria Theresa had no sympathies with her Italian sub- 
jects ; she had no poetical or patriotic associations to render 
the '' fair white walls of Florence" and its olive and vine- 
covered hills interesting or dear to her ; she disliked the 



MARIA THERESA. 269 

lieat of the climate ; she wished herself at Vienna, whence 
every post brought some fresh instance of her father's mis- 
government, some new tidings of defeat or disgrace. She 
mourned over the degradation of her house, and saw her mag- 
nificent and far-descended heritage crumbling away from her. 
The imbecile emperor, without confidence in his generals, his 
ministers, his family, or himself, exclaimed, in an agony, '' Is 
then the fortune of my empire departed with Eugene .'"' 
and he lamented hourly the absence of Maria Theresa, in 
whose strength of mind he had ever found support when his 
pride and jealousy allowed him to seek it. The archduchess 
and her husband returned to Vienna in 1739, and soon after- 
ward the disastrous war with the Turks was terminated by a 
precipitate and dishonorable treaty, by which Belgrade was 
ceded to the Ottoman Porte. The situation of the court of 
Vienna at this period is thus described by the English minister, 
Robinson : — '' Everything in this court is running into the last 
confusion and ruin, where there are as visible signs of folly and 
madness as ever were inflicted on a people whom Heaven is 
determined to destroy, no less by domestic divisions than by the 
more public calamities of repeated defeats, defencelessness, 
poverty, plague, and famine." 

Such was the deplorable state in which Charles bequeathed 
to his youthful heiress the dominions which had fallen to him 
prosperous, powerful, and victorious, only thh-ty years before. 
The agitation of his mind fevered and disordered his frame, 
and one night, after eating most voraciously of a favorite 
dish,* he was seized with an indigestion, of which he expired 
October 20th, 1740. Maria Theresa, who was then near her 
confinement, was not allowed to enter her father's chamber. 

*i\Iuslirooms stewed in oil. 



270 MARIA THERESA. 

We are told that the grief she felt on hearing of his dissolu- 
tion endangered her life for a few hours, but that the following 
day she was sufficiently recovered to give audience to the 
ministers. 

Maria Theresa was in her twenty-fourth year when she 
became in her own right Queen of Hungary and Bohemia, 
Archduchess of Austria, Sovereign of the Netherlands, and 
Duchess of Milan, of Parma, and Placentia ; in right of her 
husband she was also Grand-duchess of Tuscany. Naples and 
Sicily had indeed been wrested from her father, but she pre- 
tended to the right of those crowns, and long entertained the 
hope and design of recovering them. She reigned over some 
of the finest and fairest provinces of Europe ; over many na- 
tions speaking many different languages, governed by different 
laws, divided by mutual antipathies, and held together by no 
common link except that of acknowledging the same sovereign. 
That sovereign was now a young inexperienced woman, who 
had solemnly sworn to preserve inviolate and indivisible the vast 
and heterogeneous empire transmitted to her feeble hand, as if 
it had depended on her will to do so. Within the first few 
months of her reign the Pragmatic Sanction, so frequently 
guarantied was trampled under foot. Eranee deferred, and at 
length declined to acknowledge her title. The Elector of Ba- 
varia, supported by Eranee, laid claim to Austria, Hungary, 
and Bohemia. The King of Spain also laid claim to the Aus- 
trian succession, and prepared to seize on the Italian states ; 
the king of Sardinia claimed Milan ; the King of Prussia, not 
satisfied with merely advancing pretensions, pounced like a 
falcon on his prey, — 

Spiegato il crudo sanguinoso artiglio, — 



MARIA THERESA. 271 

and seized upon the whole duchy of Silesia, which he laid waste 
and occupied with his armies.* 

Like the hind of the forest when the hunters are abroad, 
who hears on every side the fierce baying of the hounds, and 
stands and gazes round with dilated eye and head erect, not 
knowing on which side the fury of the chase is to burst upon 
her — so stood the lovely majesty of Austria, defenceless, and 
trembling for her very existence, but not weak, nor irresolute, 
nor despairing. 

Maria Theresa was by no means an extraordinary woman. 
In talents and strength of character she was inferior to Cathe- 
rine of Russia and Elizabeth of England, but in moral qualities 
far superior to either ; and it may be questioned whether the 
brilliant genius of the former, or the worldly wisdom and saga- 
city of the latter, could have done more to sustain a sinking 
throne, than the popular and feminine virtues, the magnanimous 
spirit, and unbending fortitude of Maria Theresa. She had 
something of the inflexible pride and hereditary obstinacy of her 
family ; her understanding, naturally good, had been early 
tinged with bigotry and narrowed by illiberal prejudices ; but 
in her early youth these qualities only showed on the fairer side, 
and served but to impart something fixed and serious to the vi- 
vacity of her disposition and the yielding tenderness of her heart. 
She had all the self-will and all the sensibility of her sex ; she 
was full of kindly impulses and good intentions ; she was not 
naturally ambitious, though circumstances afterward developed 
that passion in a strong degree ; she could be roused to temper, 

♦ The French government had secretly miitured a plan of partition, by which the 
inheritance of Maria Theresa was to have been divided among the diflerent claim- 
ants in the following manner : — Bohemia and Upper Austria were assigned to the 
Elector of Bavaria; Moravia and Upper Silesia to the Elector of Saxony; Lower 
Silesia to the King of Trussia ; and Lornbardy to the King of Spain. 



272 MARIA THERESA. 

but this was seldom, and never so far as to forget the dignity 
and propriety of her sex. It should be mentioned, (for in the 
situation in which she was placed is was by no means an unim- 
portant advantage,) that at this period of her life few women 
could have excelled Maria Theresa in personal attractions. 
Her figure was tall, and formed with perfect elegance ; her de- 
portment at once graceful and majestic ; her features were 
regular ; her eyes were gray, and full of lustre and expression ; 
she had the full Austrian lips, but her mouth and smile were 
beautiful ; her complexion was transparent ; she had a profusion 
of fine hair ; and, to complete her charms, the tone of her 
voice was peculiarly soft and sweet. Her strict religious princi- 
ples, or her early and excessive love for her husband, or the 
pride of her royal station, or perhaps all these combined, had 
preserved her character from coquetry. She was not uncon- 
scious of her powers of captivation, but she used them, not as 
a woman, but as a queen — not to win lovers, but to gain over 
refractory subjects. The ^' fascinating manner" which the his- 
torian records, and for which she was so much admired, became 
later in life rather too courtly and too artificial ; but at four- 
and-twenty it was the result of kind feeling, natural grace, and 
youthful gayety. 

The perils which surrounded Maria Theresa at her accession 
were such as would have appalled the strongest mind. She was 
not only encompassed by enemies without, but threatened with 
commotions within. She was without an army, without a trea- 
sury, and, in point of fact, without a ministry — for never was 
such a set of imbecile men collected together to direct the 
government of a kindom, as those who composed the conference 
or state-council of Vienna, during this period. They agreed 
but in one thing — m jealousy of the duke of Lorraine, whom 



MARIA THERESA. 273 

they considered as a foreigner, and who was content perforce to 
remain a mere cipher. 

Maria Theresa began her reign by comniitting a mistake, very 
excusable at her age. Her father's confidential minister, Bar- 
tenstein, continued to direct the Grovernment, though he had 
neither talents nor resources to meet the fearful exigencies in 
which they were placed. The young queen had sufficient sense 
to penetrate the characters of Sinzendorf and Staremberg ; she 
had been disgusted by their attempts to take advantage of her 
sex and age, and to assume the whole power to themselves. 
She wished for instruction, but she was of a temper to resist any 
thing like dictation. Bartenstein discovered her foible ; and by 
his affected submission to her judgment, and admiration of her 
abilities, he conciliated her good opinion. His knowledge of the 
forms of business, which extricated her out of many little em- 
barrassments, she mistook for political sagacity — his presumption 
for genius ; his volubility, his readiness with his pen, all con- 
spired to dazzle the understanding and win the confidence of an 
inexperienced woman. It is generally allowed that he was a 
weak and superficial man ; but he possessed two good qualities 
— he was sincerely attached to the interests of the house of Aus- 
tria, and, as a minister, incorruptible. 

In her husband Maria Theresa found ever a faithful friend, 
and comfort and sympathy, when she most needed them ; but 
hardly advice, support, or aid. Francis was the soul of honor 
and affection, but he was illiterate, fond of pleasure, and unused 
to business. Much as his wife loved him, she either loved power ' 
more, or was conscious of his inability to yield it. Had he been 
an artful or ambitious man, Francis might easily have obtained 
over the mind of Maria Theresa that unbounded influence which 
a man of sense can always exercise over an affectionate woman ; 



274 MARIA THERESA. 

but, humbled by lier superiority of rank, and awed by her supe- 
riority of mind, lie never made the slightest attempt to guide or 
control her, and was satisfied to hold all he possessed from her 
love or from her power. 

The first war in which Maria Theresa was engaged Vfas began 
in self-defence — never was the sword drawn in a fairer quarrel 
or a juster cause. Her great adversary was Frederick II. of 
Prussia, aided by France and Bavaria. On the side of the 
young queen were England and Holland. Nothing could exceed 
the enthusiasm which her helpless situation had excited among 
the English of all ranks : The queen of Hungary was a favorite 
toast — her head a favorite sign. The parliament voted large 
subsidies to support her, and the ladies of England, with the 
old Duchess of Marlborough at their head, subscribed a sum of 
i£l 00,000, which they offered to her acceptance. Maria The- 
resa, who had been so munificently aided by the king and par- 
liament, either did not think it consistent with her dignity to 
accept of private gifts, or from some other reason, declined the 
proffered contribution. 

The war of the Austrian succession lasted nearly eight years. 
The battles and the sieges, the victories and defeats, the treaties 
made and broken, the strange events and vicissitudes which 
marked its course, may be found duly chronicled and minutely 
detailed in histories of France, England, or G-ermany. It is 
more to our present purpose to trace the influence which the 
character of Maria Theresa exercised over passing events, and 
their reaction on the fate, feelings, and character of the woman. 

Her situation in the commencement of the war appeared 
desperate. Frederick occupied Silesia, and in the first great 
battle in which the Austrians and Prussians were engaged, (the 
battle of Molwitz), the former were entirely defeated. Still the 



MARIA THERESA. 275 



queen refused to yield up Silesia, at which price she might have 
purchased the friendship of her dangerous enemy. Indignant 
at his unprovoked and treacherous aggression, she disdainfully 
refused to negotiate while he had a regiment in Silesia, and re- 
jected all attempts to mediate between them. The birth of her 
first son, the archduke Joseph, in the midst of these distresses, 
confirmed her resolution. Maternal tenderness now united with 
her family pride and her royal spirit ; and to alienate voluntarily 
any part of his inheritance appeared not only humiliation, but 
a crime. She addressed herself to all the powers which had 
guarantied the Pragmatic Sanction, and were therefore bound 
to support her. And first to France : To use her own words — 
''I wrote," said she, ''to Cardinal Fleury ; pressed by hard 
necessity, I descended from my royal dignity, and wrote to him 
in terms which would have softened stones !" But the old car- 
dinal was absolute flint. From age and long habit, he had 
become a kind of political machine, actuated by no other princi- 
ple than the interests of his government ; he deceived the queen 
with delusive promises and diplomatic delays till all was ready ; 
then the French armies poured across the Ehine, and joined 
the Elector of Bavaria. They advanced in concert within a 
few leagues of Vienna. The elector was declared Duke of 
Austria ; and, having overrun Bohemia, he invested the city of 
Prague. 

The young queen, still weak from her recent confinement, 
and threatened in her capital, looked round her in vain for aid 
and counsel. Her allies had not yet sent her the promised 
assistance ; her most sanguine friends drooped in despair ; her 
ministers looked upon each other in blank dismay. At this 
crisis the spirit of a feeling and high-minded woman saved her- 
self, her capital, and her kingdom. Maria Theresa took alone 



276 MARIA THERESA. 

the resolution of throwing herself into the arms of her Hunga- 
rian subjects. 

Who has not read of the scene which ensued, which has so 
often been related, so often described ? and yet we all feel that 
we cannot hear of it too often. When we first meet it on the 
page of history, we are taken by surprise, as though it had no 
business there ; it has the glory and the freshness of old ro- 
mance. Poetry never invented anything half so striking, or 
that so completely fills the imagination. 

The Hungarians had been oppressed, enslaved, insulted, by 
Maria Theresa's predecessors. In the beginning of her reign, 
she had abandoned the usurpations of her ancestors, and had 
voluntarily taken the oath to preserve all their privileges entire. 
This was partly from policy, but it was also partly from her own 
just and kind nature. The hearts of the Hungarians were 
already half- won when she arrived at Presburg, in June, 1741. 
She was crowned Queen of Hungary on the 13th, with the pecu- 
liar national ceremonies. The iron crown of St. Stephen was 
placed on her head, the tattered but sacred robe thrown over 
her own rich habit, which was incrusted with gems, his scimitar 
girded to her side. Thus attuned, and mounted upon a superb 
charger, she rode up the Eoyal Mount,'"' and according to the 
antique custom, drew her sabre, and defied the four quarters of 
the world, ^' in a manner that showed she had no occasion for 
that weapon to conquer all who saw her,"| The crown of St. 
Stephen, which had never before been placed on so small or so 
lovely a head, had been lined with cushions to make it fit. It 
was also very heavy, and its weight, added to the heat of the 
weather, incommoded her ; when she sat down to dinner in the 

* A rising ground near Presburg, so called from being consecrated to this cepe- 
mony. f Mr. Robinson's Dispatches. 



MARIA THERESA. 277 

great hall of the castle, she expressed a wish to lay it aside. 
On lifting the diadem from her brow, her hair, loosened from 
confinement, fell down in luxuriant ringlets over her neck and 
shoulders ; the glow which the heat and emotion had diffused 
over her complexion added to her natural beauty, and the as- 
sembled nobles, struck with admiration, could scarce forbear 
from shouting their applause. 

The effect which her youthful grace and loveliness produced 
on this occasion had not yet subsided when she called together 
the Diet, or Senate of Hungary, in order to lay before them 
the situation of her affairs. She entered the hall of the castle, 
habited in the Hungarian costume, but still in deep mourning 
for her father ; she traversed the apartment with a slow and 
majestic step, and ascended the throne, where she stood for a few 
minutes silent. The chancellor of the state first explained the 
situation to which she was reduced, and then the queen, coming 
forward, addressed the assembly in Latin, a language which 
she spoke fluently, and which is still in common use among the 
Hungarians. 

'' The disastrous state of our affairs," said she, " has moved 
us to lay before our dear and faithful states of Hungary the 
recent invasion of Austria, the danger now impending over this 
kingdom, and propose to them the consideration of a remedy. 
The very existence of the kingdom of Hungary, of our own 
person, of our children, of our crown, are now at stake, and, 
forsaken by all, we place our sole hope in the fidelity, arms, 
and long-tried valor of the Hungarians !" 

She pronounced these simple words in a firm but melancholy 
tone. Her beauty, her magnanimity, and her distress, roused 
the Hungarian chiefs to the wildest enthusiasm ; they drew 
their sabres half out of the scabbard, then fiung them back to 



278 MARIA THERESA. 

the hilt with a martial sound, which re-echoed through the lofty 
hall, and exclaimed with one accord, ''Our swords and our 
blood for your majesty — we will die for our king^ Maria 
Theresa!" Overcome by sudden emotion, she burst into a 
flood of tears. At this sight, the nobles became almost frantic 
with enthusiasm. " We wept too," said a nobleman, who assisted 
on this occasion, (Count Roller) ; '^ but they were tears of ad- 
miration, pity, and fury." They retired from her presence, 
to vote supplies of men and money, which far exceeded all her 
expectations. 

Two or three days after this extraordinary scene, the deputies 
again assembled, to receive the oath of Francis of Lorraine, 
who had been appointed co-regent of Hungary. Francis, having 
taken the required oath, waved his arm over his head and 
exclaimed with enthusiasm, '' My blood and life for the queen 
and kingdom !" It was on this occasion that Maria Theresa 
took up her infant son in her arms and presented him to the 
deputies, and again they burst into the acclamation, " We will 
die for Maria Theresa and her children !"^ 

The devoted loyalty of her Hungarian subjects changed the 
aspect of her affairs. Tribes of wild warriors from the Turkish 
frontiers — Croats, Pandours, and Sclavonians — never before seen 
in the wars of civilized Europe, crowded round her standard, 
and by their strange appearance and savage mode of warfare 
struck terror into the disciplined soldiers of Germany. Vienna 
was placed in a state of defence ; and Frederick, fallen from his 
'' pitch of pride," began to show some desire for an accommo- 

* September 21st, 1741. The Archduke Joseph was then about six months old.. 
It was not when Maria Theresa made her speech to the Diet on the 13th, that 
she held up her son in her arms ; for it appears that he was not brought to 
Presburg till the 20th. Voltaire, whose occount is generally read and copied, 
is true in the main, but more eloquent than accurate. 



MARIA THERESA. 279 

dation. At length a truce was effected by the mediation of 
England ; and the queen consented, with deep reluctance and 
an aching heart, to give up a part of Silesia, as a sop to this 
royal Cerberus. Hard necessity compelled her to this concession ; 
for while she was defending herself against the Prussians on one 
side, the French and Bavarians were about to overwhelm her 
on the other. The Elector of Bavaria had seized on Bohemia, 
and was crowned King of Prague ; and under the auspices and 
influence of France, he was soon afterward elected Emperor of 
Germany, and crowned at Frankfort by the title of Charles VII. 

It had been the favorite object of Maria Theresa to place 
the imperial crown on the head of her husband. The election 
of Charles was, therefore, a deep mortification to her, and deeply 
she avenged it. Her armies, under the command of the Duke 
of Lorraine and Greneral KevenhuUer, entered Bavaria, wasted 
the hereditary dominions of the new emperor with fire and 
sword, and on the very day on which he was proclaimed at 
Frankfort, his capital, Munich, surrendered to the Austrians, 
and the Duke of Lorraine entered the city in triumph. Such 
were the strange vicissitudes of war ! 

Within a few months afterward the French were everywhere 
beaten ; they were obliged to evacuate Prague, and accom^ 
plished with great difiiculty their retreat to Egra. So much 
was the queen's mind imbittercd against them, that their escape 
at this time absolutely threw her into an agony. She had, 
however, sufficient self-command to conceal her indignation and 
disappointment from the public, and celebrated the surrender 
of Prague by a magnificent fete at Vienna. Among other 
entertainments there was a chariot-race, in imitation of the 
Greeks — in which, to exhibit the triumph of her sex, ladies 
alone were permitted to contend, and the queen herself and her 



280 MARIA THERESA. 

sister entered the lists. It must have been a beautiful and 
gallant sight. Soon afterward Maria Theresa proceeded to 
Prague, where she was crowned Queen of Bohemia, May 12, 
1743. 

In Italy she was also victorious. Her principal opponent 
in that quarter was the high-spirited Elizabeth Farnese, the 
Queen of Spain. ^ This imperious woman, who thought she 
could manage a war as she managed her husband, commanded 
her general, on pain of instant dismissal, to fight the Austrians 
within three days ; he did so, and was defeated. 

At the close of this eventful year, Maria Theresa had the 
pleasure of uniting her sister Marianna to Prince Charles of 
Lorraine, her husband's brother. They had been long attached 
to each other, and the archduchess was beautiful and amiable ; 
but a union which promised so much happiness was mournfully 
terminated by the death of Marianna, within a few months 
after her marriage. 

The effect produced on the mind of Maria Theresa, by these 
sudden vicissitudes of fortune and extraordinary successes, was 
not altogether favorable. She had met dangers with fortitude — 
she had endured reverses with magnanimity ; but she could 
not triumph with moderation. Sentiments of hatred, of ven- 
geance, of ambition, had been awakened in her heart by the 
wrongs of her enemies and her own successes. She indulged 
a personal animosity against the Prussians and the French, 
which almost shut her heart, good and beneficent as Heaven 
had formed it, against humanity and the love of peace. She 
not only rejected with contempt all pacific overtures, and re- 
fused to acknowledge the new emperor, but she meditated vast 

* Third wife of Philip V. Her story is very prettily told by Madame de Genlis^ 
in "La Princesse des Ursins." 



MARIA THERESA. 281 

schemes of conquest and retaliation. She not only resolved 
on recovering Silesia, and appropriating Bavaria, but she formed 
plans for crushing her great enemy, Frederick of Prussia, and 
partitioning his dominions, as he had conspired to ravage and 
dismember hers. 

This excess of elation was severely chastised. In 1744 she 
lost Bavaria. Frederick suspected and anticipated her designs 
against him ; with his usual celerity he marched into Bohemia, 
besieged and captured Prague, and made even Vienna tremble. 
Maria Theresa had one trait of real greatness of mind — she was 
always greatest in adversity. She again had recourse to her 
brave Hungarians, and repairing to Presburg, she employed 
with such effect her powers of captivation, that she made every 
man who approached her a hero for her sake. The old pala- 
tine of Hungary, Count Palffy, unfurled the blood-red standard 
of the kingdom, and called on the magnates to summon their 
vassals and defend their queen ; 44,000 crowded round the 
national banner, and 30,000 more were ready to take the field. 
Maria Theresa, who knew as well as Mary Stuart herself, the 
power of a woman's smile, or word, or gift, bestowed apropos, 
sent to Count Palffy on this occasion her own charger, royally 
caparisoned, a sabre enriched with diamonds, and a ring, with 
these few words in her own hand-writing : — 

" Father Palffy, I send you this horse, worthy of being 
mounted by "none but the most zealous of my faithful subjects ; 
receive at the same time this sword to defend me against my 
enemies, and this ring as a mark of my affection for you. 

'' Maria Theresa." 

The enthusiasm which her charms and her address excited in 
Hungary, from the proudest palatine to the meanest peasant, 



282 MARIA THERESA. 

again saved her. In the following year Bohemia and Bavaria 
were recovered ; and the unfortunate emperor, Charles the 
Seventh, driven from all his possessions, after j)laying for a 
while a miserable pageant of vojsiltj in the hands of the French, 
died almost broken-hearted. With his last breath he exhorted 
his successor to make peace with Austria, and reject the impe- 
rial dignity which had been so fatal to his family. The new 
elector, Maximilian Joseph, obeyed these last commands, and 
no other competitor appearing, Maria Theresa was enabled to 
fulfill the ambition of her heart, by placing the imperial diadem 
on her husband's head. Francis was proclaimed Emperor of 
Grermany at Frankfort ; and the queen, who witnessed from a 
balcony the ceremony of election, was the first who exclaimed 
" Vive Pemperor !" From this time Maria Theresa, uniting in 
herself the titles of Empress of Germany and Queen of Hun- 
gary and Bohemia, is styled in history, the 'empress-queen. This 
accession of dignity was the only compensation for a year of 
disasters and losses in Italy and the Netherlands. Still she 
would not submit, nor bend her high spirit to an accommodation 
with Frederick on the terms he ofibred ; and still she rejected all 
mediation. At length the native generosity of her disposition 
prevailed. The Elector of Saxony,* who had been for some 
time her most faithful and efficient ally, was about to become a 
sacrifice through his devotion to her cause, and only peace could 
save him and his people. For his sake the queen stooped to 
what she never would have submitted to for any advantage to 
herself, and on Christmas-day, 1745, she signed the peace of 
Dresden, by which she finally ceded Silesia to Frederick, who, on 
this condition, withdrew his troops from Saxony, and acknow- 
ledged Francis as Emperor. 

* Augustus III. 



MARIA THERESA. 383 

The war with Louis XV. still continued with various changes 
of fortune. In 1746 she lost nearly the whole of the Nether- 
lands. The French were commanded by Marshal Saxe, the 
Austrians by Charles of Lorraine. The former was flushed 
with high spirits and repeated victories. The unfortunate Prince 
Charles was half-distracted by the loss of his wife — the Arch- 
duchess Marianna had died in her first confinement ; and her 
husband, paralyzed by grief, could neither act himself, nor give 
the necessary orders to his army. 

By this time (1747) all the sovereigns of Europe began to 
be wearied and exhausted by this sanguinary and burthensome 
war ; all, except Maria Theresa, whose pride, wounded by the 
forced cession of Silesia and the reduction of her territories in 
the Netherlands and in Italy, could not endure to leave off" a 
loser in this terrible game of life. It is rather painful to see 
how the turmoils and vicissitudes of the last few years, the 
habits of government and diplomacy, had acted on a disposition 
naturally so generous and so just. In her conference with the 
English minister she fairly got into a passion, exclaiming, with 
the utmost indignation and disdain, " that rather than agree to 
the terms of peace, she would lose her head " — raising her voice 
as she spoke, and suiting the gesture to the words. With the 
same warmth she had formerly declared, that before she would 
give up Silesia she would sell her shift ! In both cases she was 
obliged to yield. When tlie plenipotentiaries of the various 
powers of Europe met at Aix-la-Chapelle in 1748, her ministers, 
acting by her instructions, threw every possible difficulty in the 
way of the pacification ; and when at length she was obliged to 
accede, by the threat of her allies to sign without her, she did so 
with obvious, with acknowledged reluctance, and never afterward 
forgave England for having extorted her consent to this measure. 



284 MARIA THERESA. 

The peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, which was one of the great 
events of the last century, was signed by the empress-queen on 
the 23d of October, 1748. " Thus," says the historian of 
Maria Theresa, " terminated a bloody and extensive war, which 
at the commencement threatened the very existence of the 
house of Austria ; but the magnanimity of Maria Theresa, the 
zeal of her subjects, and the support of Great Britain triumphed 
over her numerous enemies, and secured an honorable peace. 
She retained possession of all her vast inheritance except Silesia, 
Parma, Placentia, and Gruastalla. She recovered the imperial 
dignity, which had been nearly wrested from the house of Aus- 
tria, and obtained the guarantee of the Pragmatic Sanction from 
the principal powers of Europe. She was, however, so dissatis- 
fied, that her chagrin broke out on many occasions, and on none 
more than when Mr. Keith requested an audience to oifer his 
congratulations on the return of peace. Maria Theresa ordered 
her minister to observe that compliments of condolence would 
be more proper than compliments of congratulation, and in- 
sinuated that the British minister would oblige the empress by 
sparing a conversation which would be highly disagreeable to 
her, and no less -unpleasing to him.* 

Maria Theresa had made peace with reluctance. She was 
convinced — that is, she felt — that it could not be of long con- 
tinuance ; but for the present she submitted. She directed her 
attention to the internal government of her dominions, and she 
resolved to place them in such a condition that she need not 
fear war whenever it was her interest to renew it. 

She began by intrusting her military arrangements to the 
superintendence of Marshal Daun, one of the greatest* generals 
of that time. She concerted with him a new and better system 

* History of the House of Austria, vol. ii., p. 368. 



MARIA THERESA. 285 

of discipline ; and was the first who instituted a military academy 
at Vienna. She maintained a standing army of one hundred 
and eight thousand men ; she visited her camps and garrisons, 
and animated her troops by her presence, her gracious speeches, 
and her bounties. Her enemy, Frederick, tells us how well she 
understood and practiced the art of enhancing the value of 
those distinctions which, however trifling, are rendered im- 
portant by the manner of bestowing them. He acknowledges 
that " the i^ustrian army acquired, under the auspices of Maria 
Theresa, such a degree of perfection as it had never attained 
under any of her predecessors, and that a woman accomplished 
designs worthy of a great man." 

But Maria Theresa accomplished other designs far more 
worthy of herself and of her sex. She made some admirable 
regulations in the civil government of her kingdom ; she cor- 
rected many abuses which had hitherto existed in the adminis- 
tration of justice ; she abolished forever the use of torture 
throughout her dominions. The collection of the revenues was 
simplified ; the great number of tax-gatherers, which she justly 
considered as an engine of public oppression, was diminished. 
Her father had left her without a single florin in the treasury. 
In 1750, after eight years of war and the loss of several states, 
her revenues exceeded those of her predecessors by six millions. 
One of her benevolent projects failed, but not through any fault 
of her own. She conceived the idea of civilizing the numerous 
tribes of gipsies in Hungary and Bohemia ; but, after perse- 
vering for years, she was forced to abandon the design. Neither 
bribes nor punishment, neither mildness nor severity could sub- 
due the wild spirit of freedom in these tameless, lawless outcasts 
of society, or bring them within the pale of civilization. 

All the new laws and regulations, the changes and improve- 



286 MARIA THERESA. 

ments which took place, emanated from Maria Theresa herself; 
and they were all more or less wisely and benevolently planned, 
and beneficial in their effect. We trace in Maria Theresa's 
public conduct two principles — a regard for the honor of her 
house, that is, her royal and family pride, and a love for her 
people ; but, from the prejudices in which she had been edu- 
cated, it frequently happened that the latter consideration was 
sacrificed to the former. What she designed and performed for 
the good of her subjects was done quietly and effectually ; and 
what she wanted in genius was supplied by perseverance and 
good sense. Though peremptory in temper, jealous of her 
authority, and resisting the slightest attempt to lead or control 
her, Maria Theresa had no overweening confidence in her own 
abilities. She was at first almost painfully sensible of the de- 
ficiencies of her education and of her own inexperience. She 
eagerly sought advice and information, and gladly and gratefully 
accepted it from all persons ; and on every occasion she listened 
patiently to long and contradictory explanations. She read 
memorials and counter memorials, voluminous, immeasurable, 
perplexing. She was not satisfied with knowing or comprehend- 
ing everything ; she was, perhaps, a little too anxious to do 
everything, see everything, manage everything herself. While 
in possession of health and strength she always rose at five in 
the morning, and often devoted ten or twelve hours together to 
the dispatch of business ; and, with all this close application to 
affairs, she found time to enter into society, to mingle in the 
amusements of her court, and to be the mother of sixteen 
children. 

In her plans and wishes for the public good Maria Theresa 
had the sympathy, if not the co-operation, of her husband ; but 
she derived little or no aid from the ministry, or, as it was 



M ARIA THERESA. 287 

termed, the conference, wliich was at this time (after the con- 
clusion of the first war,) more inefficient than even at the period 
of her accession. She had gradually become sensible of the in- 
capacity and presumption of Bartenstein ; and, as he declined 
in favor and confidence. Count (afterward Prince) Kaunitz rose 
in her estimation. Kaunitz was ten years older than the em- 
press. He had spent nearly his whole life in political afi'airs, 
rising from one grade to another, through all the subaltern 
offices of the state. He had been her minister at Aix-la- 
Chapelle in 1748 ; in 1753 he was appointed chancellor of 
state — in other words, prime minister— and from this time ruled 
the councils of the empress-queen to the day of her death, a 
period of nearly thirty years. Frederick of Prussia describes 
Kaunitz as " un homme frivole dans ses gouts, profond dans 
les affaires." From the descriptions of those who knew him 
personally, he appears to have been a man of very extraordinary 
talents, without any elevation of character ; a finical eccentric 
coxcomb in his manners ; a bold, subtle, able statesman ; in- 
ordinately vain, and, as his power increased, insolent and over- 
beai'ing ; yet indefatigable in business, and incorruptible in his 
fidelity to the interests of his sovereign. 

Eight years of almost profound peace had now elapsed, and 
JMaria Theresa was neither sensible of the value of the blessing, 
nor reconciled to the terms on which she had purchased it. 
Y/hile Frederick existed — Frederick, who had injured, braved, 
and humbled her — she was ready to exclaim, like Constance, 
" War ! war ! — no peace ! Peace is to me a war !" In vain was 
she happy in her family, and literally adored by her subjects ; 
she was not happy in herself. In her secret soul she nourished 
an implacable resentment against the King of Prussia ; in the 
privacy of her cabinet she revolved the means of his destruc- 



288 MARIA THERESA. 

tion. The loss of Silesia was still nearest her heart, and she 
never could think of it but with shame and anguish. Mingling 
the imagination and sensibility of a woman with the wounded 
pride of a sovereign, she never could hear the word " Silesia " 
without a blush — never turned her eyes on the map, where it 
was delineated as part of her territories, without visible emotion, 
and never beheld a native of that district without bursting into 
tears. She might have said of Silesia, as Mary of England said 
of Calais, that it would be found after death engraven on her 
heart. There were other circumstances which added to the 
bitterness of her resentment : Frederick, who, if not the most 
detestable, was certainly the most disagreeable monarch ever 
recorded in history, had indulged in coarse and cruel sarcasms 
against the empress and her husband ; they were repeated to 
her ; they were such as equally insulted her delicacy as a woman 
and her feelings as a wife ; and they sank deeper into her femi- 
nine mind than more real and more serious injuries. All Maria 
Theresa's passions, whether of love, grief, or resentment, par- 
took of the hereditary obstinacy of her disposition. She could 
not bandy wit with her enemy — it was not in her nature ; but 
hatred filled her heart, and projects of vengeance occupied all 
her thoughts. She looked round her for the means to realize 
them ; there was no way but by an alliance with France — with 
France, the hereditary enemy of her family and her country ! — 
with France, separated from Austria by three centuries of mu- 
tual injuries and almost constant hostility. The smaller states 
of Europe had long regarded their own safety as depending, in 
a great measure, on the mutual enmity and jealousy of these 
two great central powers ; a gulf seemed forever to divide them ; 
but, instigated by the spirit of vengeance, Maria Theresa de- 
termined to leap that gulf. 



MARIA THERESA. 289 



Her plan was considered, matured, and executed in the 
profoundest secresy ; even her husband was kept in perfect 
ignorance of her designs. She was not of a temper to fear his 
opposition, but her strong affection for him made her shrink 
from his disapprobation. Prince Kaunitz was her only coadju- 
tor ; he alone was intrusted with this most delicate and intricate 
negotiation, which lasted nearly two years. It was found neces- 
sary to conciliate Madame de Pompadour, the mistress of Louis 
XV., who was at that time all-powerful. Kaunitz, in suggest- 
ing the expediency of this condescension, thought it necessary 
to make some apology. The empress merely answered, " Have 
I not flattered Farinelli .^"^ and, taking up her pen, without 
further hesitation, this descendant of a hundred kings and 
emperors — the pious, chaste, and proud Maria Theresa — ad- 
dressed the low-born profligate favorite as " ma chere amie," 
and ^' ma cousine." The step was sufficiently degrading, but 
it answered its purpose. The Pompadour was won to the 
Austrian interest ; and through her influence this extraordinary 
alliance was finally arranged, in opposition to the policy of both 
courts, and the real interests and inveterate prejudices of both 
nations. 

When this treaty was first divulged in the council of Vienna, 
the Emperor Francis was so utterly shocked and confounded, 
that, striking the table with his hand, he vowed he wou^ 
never consent to it, and left the room. Maria Theresa was 
prepared for this burst of indignation ; she affected, with that 
duplicity in which she had lately become an adept, to attribute 
the whole scheme to her minister, and to be as much astonished 
as Francis himself. But she represented the necessity of hear- 

♦ She had sent compliments and presents to the singer Farinelli, when he was a 
favorite in the Spanish court. 



290 MARIA THERESA. 

ing and considering the whole of this new plan of policy before 
they decided against it. With a mixture of artifice, reason and 
tenderness, she gradually soothed the facile mind of her hus- 
band, and converted him to her own opinion, or at least con- 
vinced him that it was in vain to oppose it. When the report 
of a coalition between Austria and France was spread through 
Europe, it was regarded as something portentous. In England 
it was deemed incredible, or, as it was termed in parliament, un- 
natural and monstrous. The British minister at Vienna 
exclaimed, with astonishment, *' Will you, the empress and 
archduchess, so far humble yourself as to throw yourself into 
the arms of France .^" " Not into the arms," she replied, with 
some haste and confusion, " but on the side of France. I 
have," she continued, " hitherto signed nothing with France, 
though I know not what may happen ; but whatever does hap- 
pen, I promise, on my word of honor, not to sign anything 
contrary to the interests of your royal master, for whom I have 
a most sincere friendship and regard." 

The immediate result of the alliance with France was '' the 
seven years' war," in which Austria, France, Russia, Sweden, 
and Denmark, and afterward Spain, were confederated against 
the King of Prussia, who was assisted by Grreat Britain and 
^anover, and only preserved from destruction by the enormous 
subsidies of England, and by his own consummate genius and 
intrepidity. 

Until eclipsed by the great military events of the present 
century, this war stood unequaled for the skill, the bravery 
and the wonderful resources displayed on both sides — for the 
surprising vicissitudes of victory and defeat — for the number 
of great battles fought within so short a period — for the in- 
stances of individual heroism, and the tremendous waste of hu- 



MARIA THERESA. 291 

man life. In the former war our s^mipatliies were all on the 
side of Maria Theresa. In the seven years' contest, we cannot 
refuse our admiration to the unshaken fortitude and perseverance 
with which Frederick defended himself ao-ainst his enemies. 
He led his armies in person. The generals of Maria Theresa 
were Marshal Daun, Marshal Loudon, and Marshal Lacy — the 
first a Bohemian, the second of Scottish, and the third of Irish 
extraction. The empress, influenced equally by her tenderness 
and her prudence, would never allow her husband to take the 
field. Francis was personally brave, even to excess, but he had 
not the talents of a great commander, and his wife would neither 
risk his safety nor hazard the fate of her dominions by intrust- 
ing her armies to his guidance. 

In this war Maria Theresa recovered, and again lost Silesia ; 
at one time she was nearly overwhelmed and on the point of 
being driven from her capitol ; again the tide of war rolled 
back, and her troops drove Frederick from Berlin. 

When Marshal Daun gained the victory of Kolin, (June 18, 
1757), by which the Austrian dominions were preserved from 
the most imminent danger, the empress-queen instituted the 
order of Maria Theresa, with which she decorated her victorious 
general and his principal ofiicers. She loaded Daun with honors, 
and distributed rewards and gratuities to all the soldiers who^ 
had been present ; medals were struck — Te Deums were sung ; 
in short, she triumphed gratefully and gloriously. When a few 
years afterward, the same Marshal Daun lost a decisive bat- 
tle,* after bravely contesting it, Maria Theresa received him 
with greater honors than after his former success ; she even 
went out from her capital to meet him on his return, an honor 
never before conferred on any subject, and by the most flatter- 

" The battle of Torgau. 



292 MARIA THERESA. 

ing expressions of kindness and confidence, she raised his spirits 
and reconciled him with himself ; and this was in reality a more 
glorious triumph. The Roman senators, when they voted 
thanks to Fabius after his defeat, ^' because he had not despaired 
of the fate of Rome," displayed not more magnanimity than 
did this generous woman, acting merely from the impulse of her 
own feminine nature. 

When Frederick of Prussia captured any of the Austrian of- 
ficers, he treated them with coldness, rigor and sometimes 
insult ; Maria Theresa never retaliated. When the Prince de 
Bevern was taken prisoner in Silesia, Frederick, like a mere 
heartless despot as he was, declined either to ransom or ex- 
change him. He did not even deign to answer the prince's let- 
ters. The prince applied to Maria Theresa for permission to 
ransom himself, and she gave him his liberty at once, without 
ransom and without condition. These are things which never 
should be forgotten in estimating the character of Maria The- 
resa. Heaven had been so bountiful to her in mind and heart, 
that the possession of power could never entirely corrupt either ; 
still and ever she was the benevolent and high-souled woman. 

Next to France, her chief ally in this war, was the Empress 
Elizabeth of Russia, whose motives of enmity against Frederick 
were, like those of Maria Theresa, of a personal nature. 
Frederick had indulged in some severe jests, at the expense of 
that weak and vicious woman. She retorted with an army of 
50,000 men. It appears a just retribution that this man, who 
disdained or derided all female society, who neglected and ill- 
treated his wife, and tyrannized over his sisters,* should have 
been nearly destroyed through the influence of the sex he 

* For one instance of his detestable tyranny, see the story of the poor Princess 
Amelia, in Thiebault. 



MARIA THERESA. 293 

despised. Of all his enemies, the two empresses were the most 
powerful, dangerous, and implacable. In seven terrible and 
sanguinary campaigns did Frederick make head against the con- 
federated powers ; but the struggle was too unequal. In 1762, 
Maria Theresa appeared everywhere triumphant ; all her most 
sanguine hopes were on the point of being realized, and another 
campaign must have seen her detested adversary ruined, or at 
her feet. Such was the despondency of Frederick at this time, 
that he carried poison about him, firmly resolved that he would 
not be led a captive to Vienna. He was saved by one of those 
unforeseen events, by which Providence so often confounds and 
defeats all the calculations of men. The Empress Elizabeth 
died, and was succeeded by Peter the Third, who entertained 
the most extravagant admiration for Frederick. Russia, from 
being a formidable enemy, became suddenly an ally. The 
face of things changed at once. The rival powers were again 
balanced, and the decision of this terrible game of ambition 
appeared as far off as ever. 

But all parties were by this time wearied and exhausted ; all 
wished for peace, and none would stoop to ask it. At length, 
one of IMaria Theresa's officers, who had been wounded and 
taken prisoner,* ventured to hint to Frederick that his imperial 
mistress was not unwilling to come to terms. This conversation 
took place at the castle of Hubertsberg. The king, snatching 
up half a sheet of paper, wrote down in few words the conditions 
on which he was willing to make peace. The whole was con- 
tained in aboui ten lines. He sent this off to Vienna by a 
courier, demanding a definitive answer loithin twelve days. 
The Austrian ministers were absolutely out of breath at the 
idea ; they wished to temporize — to delay. But Maria Theresa, 

* Thicbault, Vingt Ans do Srjour a Berlin. 



294 MARIA THERESA. 

with the promptitude of her character, decided at once ; she 
accepted the terms, and the peace of Hubertsberg was con- 
cluded in 1763. By this treaty, all places and prisoners were 
given up. Not a foot of territory was gained or lost by either 
party. Silesia continued in possession of Prussia ; the political 
affairs of Germany remained in precisely the same state as 
before the war ; but Saxony and Bohemia had been desolated, 
Prussia almost depopulated, and more than 500,000 men had 
fallen in battle. 

France, to whom the Austrian alliance seems destined to be 
ever fatal, lost in this war the flower of her armies, half the 
coined money of the kingdom, almost all her possessions in 
America and in the East and West Indies — her marine, her 
commerce, and her credit ;* and those disorders were fomented, 
those disasters precipitated, which at length produced the re- 
volution, and brought the daughter of Maria Theresa to the 
scaffold. 

Immediately after the peace of Hubertsberg, the Archduke 
Joseph was elected King of the Romans, which insured him 
the imperial title after the death of his father. 

At the conclusion of the seven years' war, Maria Theresa was 
in the forty-eighth year of her age. During the twenty-four 
years of her public life, the eyes of all Europe had been fixed 
upon her in hope, in fear, in admiration. She had contrived to 
avert from her own states the worst of those evils she had 
brought on others. Her subjects beheld her with a love and 
reverence little short of idolatry. In the mi(ist of her weak- 
nesses, she had displayed many virtues ; and if she had com- 
mitted great errors, she had also performed great and good 
actions. But, besides being an empress and a queen. Maria 

* Vide Siecle de Louis XV 



MARIA THERESA. 295 

Theresa was also a wife and a mother ; and while she was guid- 
ing the reins of a mighty government, we are tempted to ask, 
where was her husband ? and where her children ? 

Maria Theresa's attachment to her husband had been fond 
and passionate in her youth, and it was not only constant to 
death, but survived even in the grave. Francis was her inferior 
in abilities. His influence was not felt, like hers, to the ex- 
tremity of the empire ; but no man could be more generally 
beloved in his court and family. His children idolized him, and 
he was to them a fond and indulgent father. His temper was 
gay, volatile, and unambitious ; his manners and person cap- 
tivating. Although his education had been neglected, he had 
traveled much, had seen much, and, being naturally quick, 
social, and intelligent, he had gained some information on 
most subjects. In Italy he had imbibed a taste for the fine 
arts ; he cultivated natural history, and particularly chemistry. 
While his wife was making peace and war, and ruling the 
destinies of nations, he amused himself among his retorts and 
crucibles, in buying pictures, or in superintending a ballet or 
an opera. 

Francis expended immense sums in the study of alchymy ;* 
he also believed that it was possible, by fusion, to convert 
several small diamonds into a large one, for it was not then 

* We find that, during the reign of Maria Theresa, the pursuit of the philo- 
sopher's stone was not only the fashion at Vienna, but was encouraged by the 
government. A belief in the doctrines of magic and in familiar spirits was also 
general, even among persons of rank. Princes, ministers, and distinguished mili- 
tary commanders were not exempt from this puerile superstition, 

" Professor Jaquin," says Wraxall, writing from Vienna, "is empowered by the 
empress to receive proposals from such as are inclined to enter on the attempt 
to make gold,— in other words, to find the philosopher's stone. They are imme- 
diately provided by him with a room, charcoal, utensils, crucibles, and every 
requisite, at her imperial majesty's expense." 



296 MARIA THERESA. 

known that the diamond was a combustible substance. His 
attempts in this way cost him large sums. He was fond of 
amassing money, apparently not so much from avarice as from 
an idea that wealth would give him a kind of power independent 
of his consort. Many instances are related of his humanity and 
beneficence, and his private charities are said to have been 
immense. 

During the life of Francis, Vienna was a gay and magnificent 
capital. There was a fine opera, for which Gluck and Hasse 
composed the music, and Noverre superintended the ballets. 
He was fond of masks, balls, and fetes ; and long after the 
empress had ceased to take a pleasure in these amusements, 
she entered into them for her husband's sake. All accounts 
agree that they lived together in the most cordial union ; that 
Maria Theresa was an example of every wife-like virtue — except 
submission ; and Francis a model of every conjugal virtue — 
except fidelity. Such exceptions might have been supposed 
fatal to all domestic peace, but this imperial couple seem to 
present a singular proof to the contrary. 

Francis submitted without a struggle to the ascendency of 
his wife ; he even affected to make a display of his own insignifi- 
cance, as compared with her grandeur and power. Many in- 
stances are related of the extreme simplicity of his manners. 
Being once at the levee, when the empress-queen was giving 
audience to her subjects, he retired from the circle, and seated 
liimself in a distant corner of the apartment, near two ladies of 
the court. On their attempting to rise, he said, '^ Do not mind 
me ; I shall stay here till the court is gone, and then amuse my- 
self with looking at the crowd." One of the ladies (the Countess 
Harrach) replied, " As long as your imperial majesty is present, 
the court will be here." "You mistake," replied Francis; 



MARIA THERESA. 297 

^' the empress and my children are the court — I am here but as 
a simple individual."^ 

In the summer of 1765, the imperial court left Vienna for 
Inspruck, in order to be present at the marriage of the 
Archduke Leopold with the Infanta of Spain. The emperor 
had previously complained of indisposition, and seemed over- 
come by those melancholy presentiments which are often the 
result of a deranged system, and only remembered when they 
happen to be realized. He was particularly fond of his youngest 
daughter, Marie Antoinette, and, after taking leave of his 
children, he ordered her to be brought to him once more. He 
took her in his arms, kissed, and pressed her to his heart, 
saying, with emotion, " J'avais besoin d'embrasser encore cette 
enfant!" While at Inspruck he was much indisposed, and 
Maria Theresa, who watched him with solicitude, appeared miser- 
able and anxious ; she requested that he would be bled. He 
replied, with a petulance very unusual to him, '' Madame, voulez 
vous que je meurs dans la saignee .^" The heavy air of the 
valleys seemed to oppress him even to suffocation, and he was 
often heard to exclaim, " Ah ! si je pouvais seulement sortir de 
ces montagnes du Tyrol!" On Sunday, August 18th, the 
empress and his sister again entreated him to be bled. He 
replied, " I must go to the opera, and I am engaged afterward 
to sup with Joseph, and cannot disappoint him ; but I will be 
bled to-morrow." The same evening, on leaving the theatre, 
he fell down in an apoplectic fit, and expired in the arms of 
his son. 

A scene of horror and confusion immediately ensued. While 
her family and attendants surrounded the empress, and the 
officers of the palace were running different ways in consterna- 

♦ Coxe's Memoirs. 



298 MARIA THERESA. 

tion, the body of Francis lay abandoned on a little wretched 
pallet in one of the ante-rooms, the blood oozing from the orifices 
in his temples, and not even a valet near to watch over him ! 

The anguish of Maria Theresa was heightened by her re- 
ligious feelings ; and the idea that her husband had been taken 
away in the midst of his pleasures, and before he had time to 
make his peace with God, seemed to press fearfully upon her 
mind. It was found necessary to remove her instantly. She 
was placed in a barge, hastily fitted up, and, accompanied only 
by her son, her master of horse, and a single lady in waiting, 
she proceeded down the river to Vienna. 

Previous to her departure, a courier was dispatched to the 
three archduchesses, who had been left behind in the capital, 
bearing a letter which the empress had dictated to her daughters 
on the day after her husband's death. It was in these words : — 

" Alas ! my dear daughters, I am unable to comfort you ! 
Our calamity is at its height ; you have lost a most incomparable 
father, and I a consort — a friend — my heart's joy, for forty-two 
years past ! Having been brought up together, our hearts and 
our sentiments were united in the same views. All the mis- 
fortunes I have suffered during the last twenty-five years were 
softened by his support. I am suffering such deep affliction, 
that nothing but true piety and you, my dear children, can 
make me tolerate a life which, during its continuance, shall be 
spent in acts of devotion. Pray for our good and worthy 
master.^ I give you my blessing, and will ever be your good 
mother, Maria Theresa." 

The remains of Francis the First were carried to Vienna, 

* The Emperor Joseph. 



MARIA THERESA. 299 

and, after lying in state, were deposited in the family-vault 
under the church of the Capuchins. When Maria Theresa was 
only six-and-twenty, and in the fall bloom of youth and health, 
she had constructed in this vault a monument for herself and 
her husband. Hither, during the remainder of her life, she 
repaired on the 18th of every month, and poured forth her 
devotions at his tomb. Her grief had the same fixed character 
with all her other feelings. She wore mourning to the day of 
her death. She never afterward inhabited the state apartments 
in which she had formerly lived with her husband, but removed 
to a suite of rooms, plainly and even poorly furnished, and 
huno; with black cloth. There was no afiectation in this excess 
of sorrow. Her conduct was uniform during sixteen years. 
Though she held her court and attended to the affairs of the 
government as usual, she was never known to enter into amuse- 
ments, or to relax from the mournful austerity of her widowed 
state, except on public occasions, when her presence was 
absolutely necessary, 

Maria Theresa was the mother of sixteen children. The un- 
happy IMarie Antoinette, wife of the dauphin, afterward Louis 
X'YI., was her youngest daughter. She was united to the dau- 
phin in 1770, and thus was sealed an alliance between Austria 
and France — the great object of her wishes, which Maria Theresa 
had been engaged for years in accomplishing — for, in placing a 
daughter upon the throne of France, she believed that she was 
securing a predominant influence in the French cabinet, and 
that she was rendering, by this grand scheme of policy, the 
ancient and hereditary rival of her empire, subservient to the 
future aggrandizement of her house. 

Maria Theresa lived in the interior of her palace with great 
simplicity. In the morning an old man, who could hardly be 



300 MARIA THERESA. 



entitled a chamberlain, but merely what is called on the conti- 
nent a frottmr^ entered her sleeping-room, about five or six 
o'clock in the morning, opened the shutters, lighted the stove, 
and arranged the apartment. She breakfasted on a cup of 
milk-cofiee ; then dressed and heard mass. She then pro- 
ceeded to business. Every Tuesday she received the ministers 
of the different departments ; other days were set apart for 
giving audience to foreigners and strangers, who, according to the 
etiquette of the imperial court, were always presented singly, 
and received in the private apartments. There were stated 
days on which the poorest and meanest of her subjects were ad- 
mitted almost indiscriminately ; and so entire was her confidence 
in their attachment and her own popularity, that they might 
whisper to her, or see her alone, if they required it. At other 
times she read memorials, or dictated letters and dispatches, 
signed papers, &c. At noon, her dinner' was brought in, con- 
sisting of a few dishes, served with simplicity ; she usually 
dined alone, like Napoleon, and for the same reason — to econo- 
mize time. After dinner she was engaged in public business 
till six ; after that hour her daughters were admitted to join in 
her evening prayer. If they absented themselves, she sent to 
know if they were indisposed ; if not, they were certain of 
meeting with a maternal reprimand on the following day. At 
half past eight or nine, she retired to rest. When she held a 
drawing-room or an evening-circle, she remained till ten or 
eleven, and sometimes played at cards. Before the death of 
her husband, she was often present at the masked balls, or ri- 
dottos^ which were given at court during the carnival ; after- 
ward, these entertainments and the number of fetes, or gala^ 
days^ were gradually diminished in number. During the last 
years of her life, when she became very infirm, the nobility and 



MARIA THERESA. 301 

foreign ministers generally assembled at the houses of Prince 
Kaunitz and Prince Collerado. 

On the fii'st day of the year, and on her birth-day, Maria The- 
resa held a public court, at which all the nobility, and civil and 
military officers who did not obtain access at other times, 
crowded to kiss her hand. She continued this custom as long 
as she could support herself in a chair. 

Great part of the summer and autumn were spent at Schon- 
brunn, or at Lachsenburg. In the gardens of the former 
palace there was a little shaded alley, communicating with her 
apartments. Here, in the summer days, she was accustomed to 
walk up and down, or sit for hours together ; a box was buckled 
round her waist, filled with papers and memorials, which she 
read carefully, noting with her pencil the necessary answers or 
observations to each. 

It was the fault or rather the mistake of Maria Theresa to 
give up too much of her time to the petty details of business ; 
in her government as in her religion she sometimes mistook 
the form for the spirit, and her personal superintendence be- 
came at length more like the vigilance of an inspector-general, 
than the enlightened jurisdiction of a sovereign. She could 
not, however, be accused of selfishness or vanity in this respect, 
for her indefatigable attention to business was without parade, 
and to these duties she sacrificed her pleasures, her repose, and 
often her health. 

Much of her time was employed in devotion ; the eighteenth 
day of every month was consecrated to the memory of her hus- 
band ;* and the whole month of August was usually spent in 
retirement, in penance and in celebrating masses and requiems 
for the repose of his soul. Those who arc '^ too proud to wor- 

♦ Francis died on the 18th of August. 



302 MARIA THERESA. 

ship, and too wise to feel," may smile at this — but others, even 
those who do not believe in the efficacy of requiems and masses, 
will respect the source from which her sorrow flowed, and the 
power whence it sought for comfort. 

After the death of her husband she admitted her son, the 
emperor Joseph, to the co-regency or joint-government of all 
her hereditary dominions, without prejudice to her own supreme 
jurisdiction. They had one court, and their names were united 
in all the edicts ; but what were the exact limits of their re- 
spective prerogatives none could tell. The mother and son 
occasionally differed in opinion ; he sometimes influenced her 
against her better judgment and principles ; but during her life 
she held in some constraint the restless, ambitious, and despotic 
spirit of the young emperor. The good terms on which they 
lived together, her tenderness for him, and his dutiful reverence 
toward her, place the maternal character of Maria Theresa in a 
very respectable point of view. Prince Kaunitz had the chief 
direction of foreign affairs, and although the empress placed 
unbounded confidence in his integrity and abilities, and indulged 
him in all his peculiarities and absurdities, he was a minister, 
and not a favorite. 

She founded or enlarged in different parts of her extensive 
dominions several academies for the improvement of the arts 
and sciences ; instituted numerous seminaries for the education 
of all ranks of people ; reformed the public schools, and ordered 
prizes to be distributed among the students who made the great- 
est progress in learning, or were distinguished for propriety of 
behavior or purity of morals. She established prizes for those 
who excelled in different branches of manufacture, in geometry, 
mining, smelting metals, and even spinning. She particularly 
turned her attention to the promotion of agriculture, which in a 



MARIA THERESA. 303 

medal struck by her order, was entitled the '' Art which nour- 
ishes all other arts," and founded a society of agriculture at 
Milan, with bounties to the peasants who obtained the best 
crops- She confined the rights of the chase, often so pernicious 
to the husbandman, within narrow limits, and issued a decree, 
enjoining all the nobles who kept wild game to maintain their 
fences in good repair, permitting -the peasants to destroy the 
wild-boars which ravished the fields. She also abolished the 
scandalous power usurped by the landholders of limiting the 
season for mowing the grass within the forests and their pre- 
cincts, and mitigated the feudal servitude of the peasants in 
Bohemia. 

Among her beneficial regulations must not be omitted the 
introduction of inoculation, and the establishment of a small-pox 
hospital. On the recovery of her children from a disorder so 
fatal to her own family, Maria Theresa gave an entertainment 
which displayed the benevolence of her character. Sixty-five 
children, who had been previously inoculated at the hospital, 
were regaled with a dinner in the gallery of the palace at 
Schonbrunn, in the midst of a numerous court ; and Maria 
Theresa herself, assisted by her offspring, waited on this de- 
lightful group, and gave to each of them a piece of money. 
The parents of the children were treated in another apartment ; 
the whole party was admitted to the performance of a German 
play, and this charming entertainment was concluded with a 
dance, which was protracted till midnight. 

Perhaps the greatest effort made by the cmpre?;s-quccn, and 
which reflects the highest honor on her memory, was the re- 
formation of various abuses in the church, and the regulations 
which she introduced into the monasteries 

She took away the pernicious right which the convents and 



304 MARIA THERESA. 

churches enjoyed of affording an asylum to all criminals with- 
out distinction ; she suppressed the Inquisition, which, though 
curbed by the civil power, still subsisted at Milan. She sup- 
pressed the society of Jesuits, although her own confessor was 
a member of that order, but did not imitate the unjust and cruel 
measures adopted in Spain and Portugal, and softened the rigor 
of their lot by every alleviation which circumstances would 
permit. 

To these particulars may be added, that Maria Theresa was 
the first sovereign who threw open the royal domain of the 
Prater to the use of the public. This was one of the most 
popular acts of her reign. She prevailed on Pope Clement 
XIV., (Granganelli), to erase from the calendar many of the 
saints' days and holydays, which had became so numerous as to 
affect materially the transactions of business and commerce, as 
well as the morals of the people. It is curious that this should 
Iiave proved one of the most unpopular of all her edicts, and 
was enforced with the utmost difficulty. Great as was the 
bigotry of Maria Theresa, that of her loving subjects appears 
to have far exceeded hers. She also paid particular attention 
to the purity of her coinage, considering it as part of the good 
faith of a sovereign. 

It must, however, be confessed that all her regulations were 
not equally praiseworthy and beneficial. For instance, the 
censorship of the press was rigorous and illiberal, and the pro- 
hibition of foreign works, particularly of French and English 
literature, amounted to a kind of proscription. We are assured 
that " the far greater number of those books which constitute 
the libraries of persons distinguished for taste and refinement, 
not merely in France or England, but even at Eome or 
Florence, were rigorously condemned, and their entry was 



MARIA THERESA. 305 

attended with no less difficulty than danger." That not only 
works of an immoral and a rebellious tendency, but " a sen- 
tence reflecting on the Catholic religion ; a doubt thrown upon 
the sanctity of some hermit or monk of the middle ages ; any 
publication wherein superstition was attacked or censured, how- 
ever slightly, was immediately noticed by the police, and 
prohibited under the severest penalties." 

The impediments thus thrown in the way of knowledge and 
the diffusion of literature, in a great degree neutralized the 
eff*ect of her munificence in other instances. It must be allowed 
that, though the rise of the modern German literature, which 
now holds so high a rank in Europe, dates from the reign of 
Maria Theresa, it owes nothing to her patronage. Not that, 
like Frederick II., she held it in open contempt, but that her 
mind was otherwise engaged. Lessing, Klopstock, Kant, and 
Winkelman, all lived in her time, but none of them were born 
her subjects, and they derived no encouragement from her 
notice and patronage. 

But the great stain upon the character and reign of Maria 
Theresa — an event which we cannot approach without pain and 
reluctance — was the infamous dismemberment of Poland in 
1772. The detailed history of this transaction occupies vol- 
umes ; but the manner in which Maria Theresa became im- 
plicated, her personal share in the disgrace attached to it, and 
all that can be adduced in palliation of her conduct, may be re- 
lated in very few words. 

The empress-queen had once declared that, though she might 
make peace with Frederick, no consideration should ever induce 
her to enter into an alliance in which he was a party. To pre- 
vent the increase of his power, and to guard against his en- 
croaching ambition, his open hostility, or his secret enmity, had 



306 MARIA THERESA. 

long been the ruling principle of the cabinet of Vienna. Under 
the influence of her son, and of the Russian government, and 
actuated by motives of interest and expediency, Maria Theresa 
departed from this line of policy, to which she had adhered for 
thirty years. 

The first idea of dismembering and partitioning Poland un- 
doubtedly originated with the court of Prussia. 

The negotiations and arrangements for this purpose were car-/ 
ried on with the profoundest secrecy, and each of the powers 
concerned was so conscious of the infamy attached to it, and so 
anxious to cast the largest share of blame upon another, that no 
event of modern history is involved in more obscurity or more 
perplexed by contradictory statements and relations. It is really 
past the power of a plain understanding to attempt to disentangle 
this dark web of atrocious policy. From the discovery of some 
of the original documents within the last few years, a shade of 
guilt has been removed from the memory of Maria Theresa ; 
for it appears that the treaty which originated with Frederick 
was settled between Prince Henry of Prussia and Catherine the 
Second, in 1769 ; and that it was then agreed that, if Austria 
refused to accede to the measure, Russia and Prussia should 
sign a separate treaty — league against her, seize upon Poland, 
and carry the war to her frontiers. Maria Theresa professed 
to feel great scruples, both religious and political, in participating 
either in the disgrace or advantages of this transaction, but she 
was overruled by her son and Kaunitz, and she preferred a share 
of the booty to a terrible and precarious war. That armies 
should take the field on a mere point of honor, and potentates 
" greatly find quarrel in a straw," is nothing new ; but a war 
undertaken upon a point of honesty, a scruple of conscience — 
or from a generous sense of the right opposed to the wrong — 



MARIA THERESA. 307 

this, certainly, would have been unprecedented in history ; and 
Maria Theresa did not set the example. When once she had 
acceded to this scandalous treaty, she was determined, with her 
characteristic prudence, to derive as much advantage from it as 
possible, and her demands were so unconscionable, and the share 
she claimed was so exorbitant, that the negotiation had nearly 
been broken off by her confederates. At length, a dread of 
premature exposure, and a fear of the consequent failure, in- 
duced her to lower her pretensions, and the treaty for the first 
partition of Poland was signed at Petersburg on the 3d of 
August, 1772. 

The situation of Poland at this time, divided between a licen- 
tious nobility and an enslaved peasantry, torn by faction, de- 
solated by plague and famine, abandoned to every excess of 
violence, anarchy, and profligacy ; the cool audacity of the im- 
perial swindlers, who first deceived and degraded, then robbed 
and trampled upon that unhappy country ; the atrocious means 
by which an atrocious purpose was long prepared, and at length 
accomplished ; the mixture of duplicity, and cruelty, and bri- 
bery ; the utter demoralization of the agents and their victims, 
of the corrupters and the corrupted — altogether presents a pic- 
ture which, when contemplated in all its details, fills the mind 
with loathing and horror. By the treaty of partition, to which 
a committee of Polish delegates, and the king at their head, 
were obliged to set their seal, Eussia appropriated all the north- 
eastern part of Poland — Frederick obtained all the district which 
stretches along the Baltic, called Western Prussia — Maria The- 
resa seized on a large territory to the south of Poland, including 
Red Russia, Gallicia, and Lodomeria. The city and palatinate 
of Cracow and the celebrated salt-mines of Vilitzka were in- 
cluded in her division. 



308 MARIA THERESA. 

In reference to Maria Theresa's share in the spoliation of 
Poland, I cannot forbear to mention one circumstance, and will 
leave it without a comment. She was particularly indignant 
against the early aggression of Frederick, as not only unjust and 
treacherous, but ungrateful^ since it was owing to the inter- 
ference of her father, Charles the Sixth, that Frederick had 
not lost his life either in a dungeon or on a scaffold at the time 
that he was arrested with his friend Katt.^ In the room which 
Maria Theresa habitually occupied, and in which she transacted 
business, hung two pictures, and only two ; one was the portrait 
of John Sobieski, King of Poland, whose heroism had saved 
Vienna when besieged by the Turks in 1683 — the other re- 
presented her grandfather, Leopold, who owed the preserva- 
tion of his country, his capital, his crown, his very existence, 
to the intervention of the Poles on that memorable occasion. 

After the partition of Poland, Maria Theresa appeared at 
the height of her grandeur, power, and influence, as a sovereign. 
She had greatly extended her territories ; she had an army on 
foot of two hundred thousand men ; her finances were brought 
into such excellent order that, notwithstanding her immense 
expenses, she was able to lay by in her treasury not less than 
two hundred thousand crowns a year. She lived on terms of 
harmony with her ambitious, enterprising, and accomplished 
son and successor, which secured her domestic peace and her 
political strength ; while her subjects blessed her mild sway, 
and bestowed on her the title of '' mother of her people." 

The rest of the reign of Maria Theresa is not distinguished 
by any event of importance till the year 1778, when she was 

* Vide Life of Frederick the Great. Katt, as it is well known, was beheaded in 
his sight ; and Frederick had very nearly suflered the fate of Don Carlos — that of 
being assassinated by his crack-brained father. 



MARIA THERESA. 309 

again nearly plunged into a war witli her old adversary, Freder- 
ick of Prussia. 

The occasion was this, — the Elector of Bavaria died without 
leaving any son to succeed to his dominions, and his death was 
regarded by the court of Vienna as a favorable opportunity to 
revive certain equivocal claims on the part of the Bavarian 
territories. No sooner did the intelligence of the elector's 
indisposition arrive at Vienna than the armies were held in readi- 
ness to march. Kaunitz, spreading a map before the empress 
and her son, pointed out those portions to which he conceived 
that the claims of Austria might extend ; and Joseph, with all 
the impetuosity of his character, enforced the views and argu- 
ments of the minister. Maria Theresa hesitated — she was now 
old and infirm, and averse to all idea of tumult and war. 
She recoiled from a design of which she perceived at once the 
injustice as well as the imprudence ; and when at last she 
yielded to the persuasions of her son, she exclaimed, with 
much emotion, '' In God's name, only take what we have a 
right to demand ! I foresee that it will end in war. My wish is 
to end my days in peace." 

No sooner was a reluctant consent wrung from her than the 
Austrians entered Bavaria, and took forcible possession of the 
greatest part of the electorate. 

The King of Prussia was not inclined to be a quiet spectator 
of this scheme of aggrandizement on the part of Austria, and 
immediately prepared to interfere and dispute her claims to the 
Bavarian succession. Though now seventy years of age, time 
had but little impaired either the vigor of his mind or the ac- 
tivity of his frame ; still, with him ^' the deed o'ertook the pur- 
pose," and his armies were assembled and had entered Bohemia 
before the cornet of Vienna was apprised of his movements. 



310 MARIA THERESA. 

To Frederick was opposed the young Emperor Joseph, at the 
head of a more numerous force than had ever before taken the 
field under the banners of Austria, supported by the veteran 
generals, Loudon and Lacy, and burning for the opportunity, 
which his mother's prudence had hitherto denied him, to dis- 
tinguish himself by some military exploit, and encounter the 
enemy of his family on the field of battle. 

But how different were all the views and feelings of the aged 
empress ! how changed from what they had been twenty years 
before ! She regarded the approaching war with a species of 
horror ; her heart still beat warm to all her natural affections ; 
but hatred, revenge, ambition — sentiments which had rather 
been awakened there by circumstances than native to her dispo- 
sition — were dead within her. When the troops from different 
parts of her vast empire assembled at Vienna, and marched 
with all their military ensigns past the windows of her palace, 
she ordered her shutters to be closed. Her eyes were con- 
stantly suffused with tears, her knees continually bent in prayer. 
Half-conscious of the injustice of her cause, she scarcely dared 
to ask a blessing on her armies ; she only hoped by supplication 
to avert the immediate wrath of Heaven. 

All the preparations for the campaign being completed, the em- 
peror and his brother Maximilian set off for the camp at Olmutz 
in April, 1778. When they waited on the empress to take 
their leave and receive her parting benediction, she held them 
long in her arms, weeping bitterly ; and when the emperor at 
length tore himself from her embraces, she nearly fainted away. 

During the next few months she remained in the interior of 
her palace, melancholy and anxious, but not passive and inactive. 
She was revolving the means of terminating a war which she 
detested. Her evident reluctance seems to have paralyzed her 



MARIA THERESA. 311 

generals ; for the whole of this campaign, which had opened with 
such tremendous preparations, passed without any great battle or 
any striking incident except the capture of Habelschwert, which 
as it opened a passage into Silesia, was likely to be followed by 
important consequences. When Colonel Palavicini arrived at 
Vienna with the tidings of this event, and laid the standards 
taken from the enemy at the feet of the empress, she received 
him with complacency ; but when he informed her that the 
town and inhabitants of Habelschwert had suffered much from 
the fury of the troops, she opened her bureau, and taking out a 
bag, containing five hundred ducats, " I desire," said she, 
" that this sum may be distributed in my name among the un- 
fortunate sufferers whose houses or effects have been plundered 
by my soldiery ; it will be of some little use and consolation to 
them under their misfortunes." 

She still retained something of the firmness and decision 
of her former years ; age, which had subdued her haughty 
spirit, had not enfeebled her powers ; and in this emergency 
she took the only measures left to avert the miseries of a ter- 
rible and unjust war. Unknown to her son, and even without 
the knowledge of Kaunitz, she acted for herself and for her 
people, with a degree of independence, resolution, and good 
feeling, which awakens our best sympathies, and fills us with 
admiration both for the sovereign and the woman. She dis- 
patched a confidential officer with a letter addressed to the 
King of Prussia, in which she avowed her regret that in their 
old age Frederick and herself " should be about to tear the 
gray hairs from each other's head."* " I perceive," said she, 
" with extreme sensibility, the breaking out of a new war. My 
age and my earnest desire for maintaining peace are well 

* Her own words. 



312 MARIA THERESA. 

known ; and I cannot give a more convincing proof than by the 
present proposal. My maternal heart is justly alarmed for the 
safety of my two sons and my son-in-law, who are in the army. 
I have taken this step without the knowledge of my son the 
emperor, and I entreat, whatever may be the event, that you 
will not divulge it. I am anxious to re-commence and ter- 
minate the negotiation hitherto conducted by the emperor, and 
broken oflP to my extreme regret. This letter will be de- 
livered to you by Baron Thugut, who is intrusted with full 
powers. Ardently hoping that it may fulfill my wishes con- 
formably to my dignity, I entreat you to join your efibrts with 
mine to re-establish between us harmony and good intelli- 
gence, for the benefit of mankind and the interest of our 
respective families."^ 

This letter enclosed proposals of peace on moderate terms. 
The king's answer is really honorable to himself as well as to 
the empress-queen : — 

'' Baron Thugut has delivered to me your imperial majesty's 
letter, and no one is or shall be acquainted with his arrival. It 
was worthy of your majesty's character to give these proofs of 
magnanimity and moderation in a litigious cause, after having so 
heroically maintained the inheritance of your ancestors. The 
tender attachment which you display for your son the emperor 
and the princess of your blood, deserves the applause of every 
feeling mind, and augments, if possible, the high consideration 
which I entertain for your sacred person. I have added some 
articles to the propositions of Baron Thugut, most of which have 
been allowed, and others will, I hope, meet with little difficulty. 
He will immediately depart for Vienna, and will be able to 
return in five or six days, during which time I will act with such 

* Coxe's ISIemoirg of the House of Austria, vol. ii. p. 531. 



MARIA THERESA. 313 

caution that your imperial majesty may have no cause of appre- 
hension for the safety of any part of your family, and particu- 
larly of the emperor, whom I love and esteem, although our 
opinions differ in regard to the affairs of Germany." 

It is pleasing to see these two sovereigns, after thirty-eight 
years of systematic hostility, mutual wrongs, and personal aver- 
sion, addressing each other in terms so conciliatory, and which, 
as the event showed, were at this time sincere. 

The accommodation was not immediately arranged. Freder- 
ick demurred on some points, and the Emperor Joseph, when 
made acquainted with the negotiation, was indignant at the con- 
cessions which his mother had made, and which he deemed 
humiliating — as if it could be humiliating to undo wrong, to 
revoke injustice, to avert crime, and heal animosities. But 
Maria Theresa was not discouraged, nor turned from her 
generous purpose. She was determined that the last hours 
of her reign should not, if possible, be stained by bloodshed 
or disturbed by tumult. She implored the mediation of the 
Empress of Russia. She knew that the reigning foible of the 
imperial Catherine, like that of the plebeian Pompadour, was 
vanity — intense, all-absorbing vanity — and might be soothed 
and flattered by the same means. She addressed to her, 
therefore, an eloquent letter, in which praise, and deference, 
and argument were so well mingled, and so artfully calculated 
to win that vain-glorious but accomplished woman, that she 
receded from her first design of supporting the King of Prussia, 
and consented to interfere as mediatrix. After a long negotia- 
tion and many difficulties, which Maria Theresa met and over- 
came with firmness and talent worthy of her brightest days, 
the peace was signed at Teschen, in Saxony, on the 13th of 
May, the birth-day of the empress-queen. 



314 MARIA THERESA. 

The treaty of Teschen was the last political event of Maria 
Theresa's reign in which she was actively and personally con- 
cerned. Her health had been for some time declining, and 
for several months previous to her death she was unable to move 
from her chair without assistance ; yet, notwithstanding her 
many infirmities, her deportment was still dignified, her manner 
graceful as well as gracious, and her countenance benign. 

She had long accustomed herself to look death steadily in 
the face, and when the hour of trial came, her resignation, her 
fortitude, and her humble trust in Heaven never failed her. 
She preserved to the last her self-possession and her strength 
of mind, and betrayed none of those superstitious terrors which 
might have been expected and pardoned in Maria Theresa. 

Until the evening preceding her death, she was engaged in 
signing papers, and in giving her last advice and directions to 
her successor ; and when, perceiving her exhausted state, her 
son entreated her to take some repose, she replied steadily, — 
" In a few hours I shall appear before the judgment-seat of 
Grod, and would you have me sleep .^" 

Maria Theresa expired on the 29th of November, 1780, in 
her sixty-fourth year ; and it is, in truth, most worthy of remark, 
that the regrets of her family and her people did not end with 
the pageant of her funeral, nor were obliterated by the new 
interests, new hopes, new splendors of a new reign. Years 
after her death she was still remembered with tenderness and 
respect, and her subjects dated events from the time of their 
" mother," the empress. The Hungarians, who regarded them- 
selves as her own especial people, still distinguish their country 
from Austria and Bohemia, by calling it the ^' territory of the 
queen." 



6i]^lriofie Coi^^^y. 



GHAaJ<OffS GOEBAY. 

Had Charlotte Corday lived in the days of the Greek or Roman 
republics, the action which has given celebrity to her name 
would have elevated her memory to the highest rank of civic 
virtue. The Christian moralist judges of such deeds by a dif- 
ferent standard. The meek spirit of the Saviour's religion raises 
its voice against murder of every denomination, leaving to Di- 
vine Providence the infliction of its will upon men like Marat, 
whom, for wise and inscrutable purposes, it sends, from time to 
time, as scourges upon earth. In the present instance, Char- 
lotte Corday anticipated the course of nature but a few weeks, 
perhaps only a few days ; for Marat, when she killed him, was 
already stricken with mortal disease. Fully admitting, as I 
sincerely do, the Christian precept in its most comprehensive 
sense, I am bound to say, nevertheless, that Charlotte Corday's 
error arose from the noblest and most exalted feelings of the 
human heart ; that she deliberately sacrificed her life to the 
purest love of her country, unsullied by private feelings of any 
kind ; and that, having expiated her error by a public execution, 
the motive by which she was actuated, and the lofty heroism she 
displayed, entitle her to the admiration of posterity. 

Marie Adelaide Charlotte, daughter of Jean Francois Corday 
d'Armans, and Charlotte Godicr, his wife, was born in 1768, at 
St. Saturnin, near Seez, in Normandy. Her fiiniily belonged 
to the Norm.an nobility, of which it was not one of the least 



318 CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 

ancient, and slie was descended, on the female side, from the 
great Comeille. She was educated at the Abbey of the Holy 
Trinity, at Caen, and from her earliest youth evinced superior 
intellectual endowments. 

From a peculiar bent of mind very uncommon in females, 
especially at that period, Charlotte Corday devoted herself to 
the study of politics and the theory of government. Strongly 
tinctured with the philosophy of the last century, and deeply 
read in ancient history, she had formed notions of pure repub- 
licanism which she hoped to see realized in her own country. 
A friend at first to the revolution, she exulted in the opening 
dawn of freedom ; but when she saw this dawn overcast by the 
want of energy of the Girondins, the mean and unprincipled 
conduct of the Feuillans, and the sanguinary ferocity of the 
Mountain party, she thought only of the means of averting 
the calamities which threatened again to enslave the French 
people. 

On the overthrow of the Girondins, and their expulsion from 
the Convention, Charlotte Corday was residing at Caen, with 
her relation, Madame de Broteville. She had always been an 
enthusiastic admirer of the federal principles of this party, so 
eloquently developed in their writings, and had looked up to 
them as the saviors of France. She was, therefore, not pre- 
pared for the weakness, and even pusillanimity, which they 
afterwards displayed. 

The Girondist representatives sought refuge in the depart- 
ment of Calvados, where they called upon every patriot to take 
up arms in defence of freedom. On their approach to Caen, 
Charlotte Corday, at the head of the young girls of that city, 
bearing crowns and flowers, went out to meet them. The civic 
crown was presented to LanjuinaLs, and Charlotte herself placed 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 319 

it upon his head — a circumstance which must constitute not the 
least interesting recollection of Lanjuinais' life. 

Marat was, at this period, the ostensible chief of the Moun- 
tain party, and the most sanguinary of its members. He was a 
monster of hideous deformity, both in mind and person ; his lank 
and distorted features, covered with leprosy, and his vulgar and 
ferocious leer, were a true index of the passions which worked 
in his odious mind. A series of unparalleled atrocities had 
raised him to the highest power with his party ; and though he 
professed to be merely passive in the revolutionary government, 
his word was law with the Convention, and his fiat irrevocable. 
In everything relating to the acquisition of wealth, he was in- 
corruptible, and even gloried in his poverty. But the immense 
influence he had acquired, turned his brain, and he gave full 
range to the evU propensities of his nature, now unchecked by 
any authority. He had formed principles of political faith in 
which, perhaps, he sincerely believed, but which were founded 
upon his inherent love of blood, and his hatred of every human 
being who evinced talents or virtue above his fellow-men. The 
guillotine was not only the altar of the distorted thing he wor- 
shiped under the name of Liberty, but it was also the instrument 
of his pleasures — for his highest gratification was the writhings 
of the victim who fell under its axe. Even Eobespierre at- 
tempted to check this unquenchable thirst for human blood, but 
in vain — opposition only excited Marat to greater atrocities. 
With rage depicted in his livid features, and with the howl of 
a demoniac, he would loudly declare that rivers of blood could 
alone purify the land, and must therefore flow. In his paper 
entitled, " L'Ami du Peuple," he denounced all those whom he 
had doomed to death, and the guillotine spared none whom he 
designated. 



320 CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 

Charlotte Corday, having read his assertion in this journal, 
(that three hundred thousand heads were requisite to consolidate 
the liberties of the French people,) could not contain her feel- 
ings. Her cheeks flushed with indignation, — 

'' What !" she exclaimed, " is there not in the whole country 
a man bold enough to kill this monster ?" 

Meanwhile, an insurrection against the ruling faction was in 
progress, and the exiled deputies had established a central as- 
sembly at Caen, to direct its operations. Charlotte Corday, 
accompanied by her father, regularly attended the sittings of 
this assembly, where her striking beauty rendered her the more 
remarkable, because from the retired life she led, she was pre- 
viously unknown to any of the members. 

Though the eloquence of the Grirondins was here powerfully 
displayed, their actions but little corresponded with it. A libe- 
rating army had been formed in the department, and placed 
under the command of General Felix Wimpfen. But neither 
this general nor the deputies took any measures worthy of the 
cause ; their proceedings were spiritless and emasculate, and 
excited, without checking, the faction in power. Marat de- 
nounced the Grirondins in his paper, and demanded their death 
as necessary for the safety of the republic. 

Charlotte Corday was deeply afflicted at the nerveless 
measures of the expelled deputies, and imagining that, if she 
could succeed in destroying Marat, the fall of his party must 
necessarily ensue, she determined to offer up her own life for 
the good of her country. She accordingly called on Barbaroux, 
one of the Grirondist leaders, with whom she was not personally 
acquainted, and requested a letter of introduction to M. 
Duperret, a deputy, favorable to the Grirondins, and then at 
Paris. Having also requested Barbaroux to keep her secret, 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 321 

she wrote to her father, stating, that she had resolved to emi- 
grate to England, and had set out privately for that country, 
where alone she could live in safety. 

She arrived at Paris at the beginning of July, 1793, and im- 
mediately called upon M. Duperret. But she found this deputy 
as devoid of energy as of talent, and therefore only made use of 
him to assist her in transacting some private business. 

A day or two after her arrival, an incident occurred, which 
is worthy of a place here. 

Being at the Tuileries, she seated herself upon a bench in 
the garden. A little boy, attracted no doubt by the smile with 
which she greeted him, enlisted her as a companion of his gam- 
bols. Encouraged by her caresses, he thrust his hand into her 
half-open pocket and drew forth a small pistol. 

'' What toy is this .^" said he. 

" It is a toy," Charlotte replied, " which may prove very 
useful in these times." 

So saying, she quickly concealed the weapon, and looking 
round to see whether she was observed, immediately left the 
garden. 

On the 11th of July, Charlotte Corday attended the sittmg 
of the Convention, with a determination to shoot Marat in the 
midst of the assembly. But he was too ill to leave his house ; 
and she had to listen to a long tirade against the Girondins, 
made by Cambon, in a report on the state of the country. 

On the 12th, at nine o'clock in the evening, she called on 
M. Prud'homme, a historian of considerable talent and strict 
veracity, with whose writings on the revolution she had been 
much struck. 

" No one properly understands the state of France," said 
Bhe, with the accent of true patriotism ; '' your writings alone 



322 CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 

have made an impression upon me, and that is the reason why I 
have called upon you. Freedom, as you understand it, is for 
all conditions and opinions. You feel, in a word, that you have 
a country. All the other writers on the events of the day are 
partial, and full of empty declamation — they are wholly guided 
by factions, or, what is worse, by coteries." 

M. Prud'homme says, that, in this interview, Charlotte Cor- 
day appeared to him a woman of most elevated mind and 
striking talent. 

The day after this visit, she went to the Palais Royal and 
bought a sharp-pointed carving-knife, with a black sheath. On 
her return to the hotel in which she lodged — Hotel de la 
Providence, Rue des Augustins — she made her preparations for 
the deed she intended to commit next day. Having put up her 
papers in order, she placed a certificate of her baptism in a red 
pocket-book, in order to take it with her, and thus establish her 
identity. This she did because she had resolved to make no 
attempt to escape, and was therefore certain she should leave 
Marat's house for the conciergerie, preparatory to her appearing 
before the revolutionary tribunal. 

Next morning, the 14th, taking with her the knife she had 
purchased, and her red pocket-book, she proceeded to Marat's 
residence, at No. 18, Rue de I'Ecole de Medicine. The re- 
presentative was ill, and could not be seen, and Charlotte's 
entreaties for admittance on the most urgent business were 
unavailing. She therefore withdrew, and wrote the following 
note, which she herself delivered to Marat's servant : — 

" Citizen Representative, 

" I am just arrived from Caen. Your well-known patriot- 
ism leads me to presume that you will be glad to be made ac- 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 323 

quainted with what is passing in that part of the republic. I 
will call on you again in the course of the day ; have the good- 
ness to give orders that I may be admitted^ and grant me a few 
minutes' conversation. I have important secrets to reveal to 

^ * '' Charlotte Corday." 

At seven o'clock in the evening she returned, and reached 
Marat's ante-chamber ; but the woman who waited upon him 
refused to admit her to the monster's presence. Marat, how- 
ever, who was in a bath in the next room, hearing the voice of 
a young girl, and little thinking she had come to deprive him 
of life, ordered that she should be shown in. Charlotte seated 
herself by the side of the bath. The conversation ran upon 
the disturbances in the department of Calvados, and Charlotte, 
fixing her eyes upon Marat's countenance as if to scrutinize his 
most secret thoughts, pronounced the names of several of the 
Girondist deputies. 

" They shall soon be arrested," he cried with a howl of 
rage, '' and executed the same day." 

He had scarcely uttered these words, when Charlotte's knife 
was buried in his bosom. 

'' Help !" he cried, " help ! I am murdered." He died im- 
mediately. 

Charlotte might have escaped, but she had no such intention. 
She had undertaken, what she conceived, a meritorious action, 
and was resolved to stay and ascertain whether her aim had been 
sure. In a short time, the screams of Marat's servant brought 
a crowd of people into the room. Some of them beat and ill- 
used her, but, the Members of the Section having arrived, she 
placed herself under their protection. They were all struck 
with her extraordinary beauty, as well as with the calm and lufty 



524 CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 

heroism that beamed from her countenance. Accustomed as 
they were to the shedding of human blood, they could not be- 
hold unmoved this beautiful girl, who had not yet reached her 
twenty-fifth year, standing before them with unblenching eye, 
but with modest dignity, awaiting their fiat of death, for a deed 
which she imagined would save her country from destruction. 
At length Danton arrived, and treated her with the most de- 
basing indignity, to which she only opposed silent contempt. 
She was then dragged into the street, placed in a coach, and 
Drouet was directed to conduct her to the conciergeric. On her 
way thither, she was attacked by the infuriated multitude. 
Here, for the first time, she evinced symptoms of alarm. The 
possibility of being torn to pieces in the streets, and her muti- 
lated limbs dragged through the kennel and made sport of by 
the ferocious rabble, had never before occurred to her imagina- 
tion. The thought now struck her with dismay, and roused all 
her feelings of female delicacy. The firmness of Drouet, how- 
ever, saved her, and she thanked him warmly. 

^' Not that I feared to die," she said ; '' but it was repugnant 
to my woman's nature to be torn to pieces before everybody." 

Whilst she was at the conciergerie, a great many persons 
obtained leave to see her ; and all felt the most enthusiastic 
admiration on beholding a young creature of surpassing loveli- 
ness, with endowments that did honor to her sex, and a loftiness 
of heroism to which few of the stronger sex have attained, who 
had deliberately executed that which no man in the country had 
resolution to attempt, though the whole nation wished it, and 
calmly given up her life for the public weal. 

Charlotte's examination before the revolutionary tribunal is 
remarkable for the dignified simplicity of her answers. I shall 
only mention one which deserves to be handed down to posterity : 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 325 



" Accused," said the president, " liow happened it that thou 
couldst reach the heart at the very first blow ? Hadst thou 
been practicing beforehand?" 

Charlotte cast an indescribable look at the questioner. 

" Indignation had roused my heart," she replied, " and it 
showed me the way to his." 

When the sentence of death was passed on her, and all her 
property declared forfeited to the state, she turned to her coun- 
sel, M. Chauveau Lagarde, — 

" T cannot, sir, sufficiently thank you," she said, " for the 
noble and delicate manner in which you have defended me ; 
and I will at once give you a proof of my gratitude. I have 
now nothing in the world, and I bequeath to you the few debts 
I have contracted in my prison. Pray, discharge them for me." 

When the executioner came to make preparations for her 
execution, she entreated him not to cut off her hair. 

" It shall not be in your way," she said ; and taking her 
stay lace she tied her thick and beautiful hak on the top of her 
head, so as not to impede the stroke of the axe. 

In her last moments, she refused the assistance of a priest ; 
and upon this is founded a charge of her being an infidel. But 
there is nothing to justify so foul a blot upon her memory. 
Charlotte Corday had opened her mind, erroneously perhaps, to 
freedom of thought in religion as well as in politics. Deeply 
read in the philosophic writings of the day, she had formed 
her own notions of faith. She certainly rejected the com- 
munion of the Roman Church ; and it may be asked, whether 
the conduct of the hierarchy of France before the revolution 
was calculated to convince her that she was in error ? But, 
because she refused the aid of man as a mediator between her 
and God, is it just to infer that she rejected her Creator ? Cer- 



326 CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 

tainly not. A mind like hers was incapable of existing without 
religion ; and the very action she committed may justify the 
inference that she anticipated the contemplation, from other 
than earthly realms, of the happiness of her rescued country. 

As the cart in which she was seated proceeded towards the 
place of execution, a crowd of wretches in the street, ever 
ready to insult the unfortunate, and glut their eyes with the 
sight of blood, called out, — 

•'To the guillotine with her !" 

''I am on my way thither," she mildly replied, turning 
towards them. 

She was a striking figure as she sat in the cart. The ex- 
traordinary beauty of her features, and the mildness of her look, 
strangely contrasted with the murderer's red garment which 
she wore. She smiled at the spectators whenever she perceived 
marks of sympathy rather than of curiosity, and this smile gave 
a truly E,aphaelic expression to her countenance. Adam Lux, 
a deputy of Mayence, having met the cart, shortly after it left 
the conciergerie, gazed with wonder at this beautiful apparition 
— -for he had never before seen Charlotte — and a passion, as 
singular as it was deep, immediately took possession of his 
mind. 

'^Oh!" cried he, "this woman is surely greater than 
Brutus!" 

Anxious once more to behold her, he ran at full speed towards 
the Palais Eoyal, which he reached before the cart arrived 
in front of it. Another look which he cast upon Charlotte 
Corday, completely unsettled his reason. The world to him 
had suddenly become a void, and he resolved to quit it. Rush- 
ing like a mad-man to his own house, he wrote a letter to 
the revolutionary tribunal, in which he repeated the words he 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 327 

had already uttered at the sight of Charlotte Corday, and con- 
cluded by asking to be condemned to death, in order that he 
might join her in a better world. His request was granted, 
and he was executed soon after. Before he died, he begged 
the executioner to bind him with the very cords that had before 
encircled the delicate limbs of Charlotte upon the same scaffold, 
and his head fell as he was pronouncing her name. 

Charlotte Corday, wholly absorbed by the solemnity of her 
last moments, had not perceived the effect she had produced 
upon Adam Lux, and died in ignorance of it. Having reached 
the foot of the guillotine, she ascended the platform with a firm 
step, but with the greatest modesty of demeanor. '' Her coun- 
tenance,- ' says an eye-witness, " evinced only the calmness of a 
soul at peace with itself." 

The executioner having removed the handkerchief which 
covered her shoulders and bosom, her face and neck became 
suffused with a deep blush. Death had no terrors for her, but 
her innate feelings of modesty were deeply wounded at being 
thus exposed to public gaze. Her being fastened to the fatal 
plank seemed a relief to her, and she eagerly rushed to death as 
a refuge against this violation of female delicacy. 

When her head fell, the executioner took it up and bestowed 
a buffet upon one of the cheeks. The eyes, which were already 
closed, again opened, and cast a look of indignation upon the 
brute, as if consciousness had survived the separation of the 
head from the body. This fact, extraordinary as it may seem, 
has been averred by thousands of eye-witnesses ; it has been 
accounted for in various ways, and no one has ever questioned 
its truth. 

Before Charlotte Corday was taken to execution, she wrote a 
letter to her father entreating his pardon for having, without his 



328 CHARLOTTE COR DAY. 

permission, disposed of the life she owed him. Here the 
lofty-minded heroine again became the meek and submissive 
daughter — as, upon the scaffold, the energetic and daring woman 
was nothing but a modest and gentle girl. 

The Mountain party, furious at the loss of their leader, at- 
tempted to vituperate the memory of Charlotte Corday, by 
attributing to her motives much less pure and praiseworthy than 
those which really led to the commission of the deed for which 
she suffered. They asserted that she was actuated by revenge 
for the death of a man named Belzunce, who was her lover, 
and had been executed at Caen upon the denunciation of Marat. 
But Charlotte Corday was totally unacquainted with Belzunce 
— she had never even seen him. More than that, she was never 
known to have an attachment of the heart. Her thoughts and 
feelings were wholly engrossed by the state of her country, and 
her mind had no leisure for the contemplation of connubial hap- 
piness. Her life was, therefore, offered up in the purest spirit 
of patriotism, unmixed with any worldly passion. 

M. Prud'homme relates, that, on the very day of Marat's 
death, M. Piot, a teacher of the Italian language, called upon him. 
This gentleman had just left Marat, with whom he had been 
conversing on the state of the country. The representative, 
in reply to some observation made by M. Piot, had uttered 
these remarkable words : — 

^' They who govern are a pack of fools. France must have 
a chief 5 but to reach this point, blood must be shed, not drojp 
hy drop J but in torrents.''^ 

'' Marat," added M. Piot to M. Prud'homme, '' was in his 
bath, and very ill. This man cannot live a month longer." 

When M. Piot was informed that Marat had been murdered, 
an hour after he had made this communication to M. Prud'- 



CHARLOTTE CORDAY. 329 

homme, he was stricken with a sort of palsy, and would probably 
have died of fright, had not M .Prud'homme promised not to 
divulge this singular coincidence. 

To the eternal disgrace of the Fr^ch nation, no monument 
has been raised to the memory of Charlotte Corday, nor is it 
even known where her remains were deposited ; and yet, in the 
noble motive of her conduct, and the immense and generous 
sacrifice she made of herself, when in the enjoyment of every- 
thing that could make life valuable, she has an eternal claim 
upon the gratitude of her country. 



fo^e()i|iif|e. 




cJ] (Q) ^ [£ [p [}{i n Ki [1 o 



EMPRESS OF THE ERENCH. 

Josephine Rose Tascher de la Pagerie was born at Mar- 
tinique on the 24th of June, 1763. At a very early age she 
came to Paris, where she married the Viscount Beauharnais, 
a man of talent and superior personal endowments, but not a 
courtier, as some writers have asserted, for he was never even 
presented at court. Beauharnais was a man of limited fortune, 
and his wife's dower more than doubled his income. In 1787, 
Madame Beauharnais returned to Martinique to nurse her aged 
mother, whose health was in a declining state ; but the dis- 
turbances which soon after took place in that colony, drove her 
back to France. During her absence, the revolution had broken 
out, and on her return she found her husband entirely devoted 
to those principles upon which the regeneration of the French 
people was to be founded. The well-known opinions of the 
Viscount Beauharnais gave his wife considerable influence with 
the rulers of blood, who stretched their reeking sceptre over 
the whole nation ; and she had frequent opportunities, which 
she never lost, of saving persons doomed by their sanguinary 
decrees. Among others, Mademoiselle de Bethisy was con- 
demned, by the revolutionary tribunal, to be beheaded; but 
Madame Beauharnais, by her irresistible intercession, succeeded 
in obtaining the life and freedom of this interesting lady. The 
revolution, however, devouring, like Saturn, its own children, 
spared none of even its warmest supporters, the moment they 



332 JOSEPHINE. 



came in collision with the governing party, then composed of) 
ignorant and blood-thirsty enthusiasts. The slightest hesita- 
tion in executing any of their decrees, however absurd or im- 
practicable, was considered a crime deserving of death. Beau- 
harnais had been appointed general-in-chief of the army of the 
North. Having failed to attend to some foolish order of the 
Convention, he was cited to appear at its bar and give an 
account of his conduct. No one appeared before this formidable 
assemby, but to take, immediately after, the road to the guillo- 
tine ; and such was the case with the republican general Beau- 
harnais. He was tried, and condemned ; and, on the 23d of 
July, 1794, he was publicly beheaded at the Place de la 
Bevolution. Meantime, his wife had been thrown into prison, 
where she remained until Bobespierre's death, expecting each 
day to be led out to execution. Having at length recovered 
her freedom, she joined her children, Eugene and Hortense, 
who had been taken care of during their mother's captivity 
by some true and devoted, though humble friends. After the 
establishment of the Directory, Madame Tallian became all- 
powerful with the Director, Barras, to whom she introduced 
Madame Beauharnais. 

Bonaparte at length became passionately attached to Madame 
Beauharnais, and married her on the 17th of February, 1796. 
She accompanied him to Italy, where by her powers of pleasing 
she charmed his toils, and by her affectionate attentions soothed 
his disappointments when rendered too bitter by the impedi- 
ments which the jealousy of the Directory threw in the way 
of his victories. 

Bonaparte loved Josephine with great tenderness ; and this 
attachment can be expressed in no words but his own. In his 
letters, published by Queen Hortense, it may be seen how 



JOSEPHINE. 333 



ardently his soul of fire had fixed itself to hers, and mixed up 
her life with his own. These letters form a striking record. 
A woman so beloved, and by such a man, could have been 
no ordinary person. 

When Napoleon became sovereign of France, after having 
proved its hero, he resolved that his crown should also grace 
the brows of Josephine. 

With his own hand he placed the small crown upon her head, 
just above the diamond band which encircled her forehead. It 
was evident that he felt intense happiness in thus honoring the 
w^oman he loved, and making her share his greatness. 

It was truly marvelous to see Josephine at the Tuilleries, on 
grand reception days, as she walked through the Gallerie de 
Diane and the Salle des Marechaux. Where did this sur- 
prising woman acquire her royal bearing ? She never appeared 
at one of these splendid galas of the empire without exciting 
a sentiment of admiration, and of aflfection too — for her 
smile was sweet and benevolent, and her words mild and 
captivating, at the same time that her appearance was 
majestic and imposing. 

She had some very gratifying moments during her greatness, 
if she afterwards encountered sorrow. The marriage of her 
son Eugene to the Princess of Bavaria, and that of her niece to 
the Prince of Baden, were events of which she might well be 
proud. Napoleon seemed to study how he could please her — 
he seemed happy but in her happiness. 

He generally yielded to her entreaties — for the manner in 
which she made a request was irresistible. Her voice was 
naturally harmonious like that of most Creoles, and there was 
a peculiar charm in every word she uttered. I onc« witnessed, 
at Malmaison, an instance of her power over the emperor. A 



334 JOSEPHINE. 



soldier of the guard, guilty of some breach of discipline, had 
been condemned to a very severe punishment. Marshal Bes- 
sieres was anxious to obtain the man's pardon ; but as Napoleon 
had already given his decision, there was no hope unless the 
empress undertook the affair. She calmly listened to the 
Marshal, and, having received all the information necessary, 
said, with her musical voice and bewitching smile, — 

" I will try if I can obtain the poor man's pardon." 

When the emperor returned to the drawing-room, we all 
looked to see the expression his countenance would assume 
when she mentioned the matter to him. At first he frowned, 
but, as the empress went on, his brow relaxed ; he then smiled, 
looked at her with his sparkling eyes, and said, kissing her fore- 
head, — 

" Well, let it be so for this once ; but, Josephine, mind you 
do not acquire a habit of making such applications." 

He then put his arm round her waist, and again tenderly 
kissed her. Now, what spell had she employed to produce such 
an effect ? Merely a few words, and a look, and a smile ; but 
each was irresistible. 

Then came days of anguish and regret. She had given no 
heir to Napoleon's throne, and all hope of such an event was 
now past. This wrung her heart ; for it was a check to Na- 
poleon's ambition of family greatness, and a disappointment to 
the French nation. The female members of Napoleon's family 
disliked the empress — they were perhaps jealous of her influ- 
ence — and the present opportunity was not lost to impress upon 
the emperor the necessity of a divorce. At length he said to 
Josephine, — 

" We must separate ; I must have an heir to my empire." 

With a bleeding heart, she meekly consented to the sacrifice. 



JOSEPHINE. 335 



The particulars of the divorce are too well known to be re- 
peated here. 

After this act of self-immolation, Josephine withdrew to 
Malmaison, where she lived in elegant retirement — unwilling to 
afflict the emperor with the news of her grief, and wearing a 
smile of seeming content which but ill veiled the sorrows of her 
heart. Yet she was far from being calm ; and in the privacy 
of friendship, the workings of her affectionate nature would 
sometimes burst forth. But she was resigned ; and what more 
could be required from a broken heart ? 

On the birth of the King of Rome, when Providence at 
length granted the emperor an heir to his thrones, Josephine 
experienced a moment of satisfaction which made her amends 
for many days of bitterness. All her thoughts and hopes were 
centered in Napoleon and his glory, and the consummation of 
his wishes was to her a source of pure and unutterable satis- 
faction. 

" My sacrifice will at least have been useful to him and 
to France," she said with tearful eyes. But they were 
tears of joy. Yet this joy was not unalloyed ; and the 
feeling which accompanied it, was the more bitter because it 
could not be shown. It was, however, betrayed by these simple 
and affecting words uttered in the most thrilling tone : — 

" Alas ! why am I not his mother .^" 

When the disasters of the Russian campaign took place, she 
was certainly much more afflicted than the woman who filled 
her place at the Tuilleries. When in private with any who 
were intimate with her, she wept bitterly. 

The emperor's abdication, and exile to Elba, cut her to the 
soul. 

" Why did I leave him ?" she said, on hearing that he had 



336 JOSEPHINE, 



set out alone for Elba ; " wliy did I consent to this separation ? 
Had I not done so, I should now be by his side, to console him 
in his misfortunes." 

Josephine died at Malmaison, on the 29th of May, 1814, 
after a few days illness. Her two children were with her during 
her last moments. 

Her body was buried in the church of Ruel. Every person 
of any note, then at Paris attended her funeral. She was uni- 
versally regretted by foreigners as well as by Frenchmen ; and 
she obtained, as she deserved, a tribute to her memory, not only 
from the nation, whose empress she had once been, but from 
the whole of Europe, whose proudest sovereigns had once been 
at her feet. 



THE END. 
















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